


the sanctity of patience

by scrunchyharry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, King Louis Tomlinson, M/M, Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-29 06:49:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18773434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrunchyharry/pseuds/scrunchyharry
Summary: When young Lord Harry was chosen by King Louis of Bavaria to become his husband and prince consort, Harry thought all of his dreams had come through. His illusions came crashing down when he understood it meant living in isolation in the alpine castle of Neuschwanstein with a husband who turned out to be far from what he had hoped for.His illusions vanished, Harry will have learn to appreciate what has and even, perhaps, fall in love with his imperfect husband and his castle.





	the sanctity of patience

**Author's Note:**

> This was born out of my weird interest in Ludwig II of Bavaria and an inspiring visit to Neuschwanstein Castle two years ago. I weaved in as much history as I could without making it weird. For those wondering, it takes place roughly in the 1870s, although the castle was only finished in 1886. Please, ignore this fact along with me. We're writing an AU, here, not a history textbook. If you want to go even deeper into the history I included, hit me up in the comments and we can be nerds together.
> 
> The picture is my own from when I visited in 2017. Harry's opinion of the castle is not mine. I, for one, don't mind campy religious iconography. Look it up. Whatever you imagine it to be, you are wrong.
> 
> Title from _Fairytale_ by Sara Bareilles.
> 
> N.B. I do not speak German. If the German I tried to include is atrocious, blame Google Translate. I really did try my best.

For all of his life, Harry had had small expectations for his future. Like everyone, he hoped for an easy life, to get married and perhaps even love the person he was marrying, and live happily ever after. He knew his rank, if vaguely—he was the son of a lord, and they owned some land, though he could not say how much, and so he knew not to expect a grandiose wedding to a duke or a baron. Another lord would be fine, and about as good as he could expect. He had been prepared for that reality his whole life, he did not mind, it was almost a relief: his life was simple and it would remain simple, and that was that. 

The year that he turned eighteen, marriage became a more pressing matter, moving to the forefront of his mind, pushing away his other, smaller worries, like who he might invite for a picnic next week, or what colour to pick for the outfit he had to order for the upcoming spring ball. He had to begin thinking about who he might want to marry so that his parents could send out letters and get things in motion. He had no time to lose, the best options would be swept away quickly. 

And, to top it all off, there was the matter of the rumour that King Louis was looking for a husband. 

Now, Harry never imagined he would even qualify. As vaguely as he knew his rank, he knew it was not high enough to even think about marrying a king. Besides, he had heard that King Louis lived alone in an empty castle nestled high up in the Alps, where he spent his days reading. No one had seen him in years and he invited no one. Who would want to go live there? Harry needed a minimum of three balls _per season_ to stay sane. 

The news came on a warm September afternoon, when Harry was practicing his piano lessons. The windows were opened, letting in the heady smell of late blooming flowers, and it took a moment before he heard the footman's polite coughs coming from behind him. 

"Your father requests your presence, sir," said the footman, bowing before he left. 

With a sigh heavy with anticipation — dread, even; his father was not a pleasant man — Harry crossed the manor to get to his father's office. He knocked on the door and waited to be called in, taking a seat in front of his father's imposing mahogany desk. 

"We received this letter," began his father, waving it in the air. 

"Yes," replied Harry, nodding. He wondered what else he was expected to say. 

"It's from the king's private secretary." 

" _Oh_." With a frown, Harry cocked his head to the side. "Are we losing our title?" 

Annoyed, his father huffed. "Don't be preposterous. No. You're to marry the king." His father sent the letter sliding across the desk's varnished top and Harry caught it before it fell to the floor. 

"Ew, isn't _König_ [1] Wilhelm already married?!" 

"Not our king, the Bavarian king, _Schwachkopf_ [2]." 

Ignoring the insult, Harry's eyes flew over the page, barely taking in the words: _Durch königlichen Erlass… zugewiesen heiraten… König Ludwig II_ … Assigned by a royal decree to marry King Louis II. 

"Why me?" asked Harry, letting the letter fall to the floor, too stunned to notice. 

His father spread his hands, as clueless as his son. "I have no idea. We did not send your…" he frowned. "Your mother." 

"What about her?" 

"She must have done it… she sent your name." 

"But we're _niederer Adel_ [3]! We're barely noble!" 

"I'm aware," said his father, his teeth gritted. "And yet, you are to become _Prinzgemahl_ of bloody Bavaria _._ " 

"Prince consort," repeated Harry, his voice barely above a breath. 

His heart grew wild, imaging the life of luxury ahead of him, the privileges he would be granted, but it sank moments later. The change of pace made Harry dizzy and he clung to the armrests of his high back chair. 

"Will I have to go live in that dreadful castle? Neuschwanstein?" 

"It doesn't say, but the king hasn't been seen in Munich in years." 

"It doesn't matter, does it? I'm going to be prince consort," repeated Harry, hoping to make the words sound real. 

" _Gott helfe uns allen_ ," his father muttered in reply. 

\- 

From a life so small it felt like a cage, within days, Harry was thrown into a whirlwind of novelty that frightened him as much as it excited him. The king had requested that the wedding take place as early as possible, so it became a race against time to get Harry a new wardrobe fit for his future title, not to mention something to wear on the wedding day. Plus, there was his _trousseau_ to sort out, its content ridiculously unsuited for a prince. 

The date was set to a month from the day the letter arrived. Harry only had four weeks to say goodbye to his friends and his family, to everything he had always known. It was not nearly enough and he felt it slipping through his fingers like sand as he was pulled here and there to help with the preparations. Before he knew it, he was being awakened at the crack of dawn to board a carriage that would take him to a new kingdom, to Neuschwanstein, to his new life. 

After nearly ten hours of travel, they reached the castle, its high towers looming high above them as the horses struggled up the steep, winding path leading to the castle's entrance. The inner courtyard was empty when they reached it but for a single footman sent to welcome then. Dread settled into Harry's stomach like a heavy stone. 

His parents did not come, instead sending an emissary with Harry to sign whatever would need to be signed. The footman ushered them forward, his voice echoing on the walls around them, and Harry followed a few steps behind the rest of the envoy, delaying the moment he would have to enter the castle. His new home, and he feared it. 

The bright white façade of the castle, blinding against the blue of the sky and the fiery colors of fall, which had lifted Harry's spirits slightly, turned out to be nothing but a deception. As soon as he stepped inside of the castle, he felt like a weight had dropped on his shoulders. Everything around him was made of dark wood, heavy with ornamentations, gilding or paintings, the mix of bright colours overwhelming Harry. More than the onslaught to the eyes, though, what jarred Harry the most was the silence that filled the castle. Oppressive and thick, it almost had an existence of its own and it wrapped a hand around Harry's heart, squeezing until he almost felt sick. 

His steps echoed in the halls as he followed the footman up several staircases until, finally, he stopped in front of a set of imposing double doors. 

"Your room, _mein Herr_ [4]." 

With that, the footman turned on his heels and left Harry standing in front of the doors. It was not that Harry was offended that the footman did not open the door for him, it was just that footmen had never _not_ opened doors for him. It was what footmen did, or so Harry thought. Maybe he had grown up more spoiled than he knew. 

Pushing open the door, struggling briefly against his weight, Harry entered an entirely disappointing room. The walls were painted white, contrasting with the dark, exposed beams, and the only furniture in the room were a baldaquin bed, a small desk with a matching chair, and a dresser. Not wanting to panic immediately and imagine the worst, Harry walked to the window and let out a small, relieved sigh. The view he had of the Alps was breathtaking, the room high enough that it almost felt like flying. If everything else was a disaster, he thought, he would always have the view. 

His luggage had not been brought up yet, so Harry wandered around the room, unsure what he was supposed to do. Approaching the desk, he found a sealed letter that had been placed on it, addressed to him. 

_Willkommen, mein Schatz verlobt_ [5], it began, in what Harry assumed was the king's handwriting. 

_I hope this letter finds you well. I apologise for the state of your room, it is very much a work in progress, as is the rest of the castle. Worry not that you will get to decide every last detail of its appearance so that it becomes your perfect nest of happiness._

_I meant to send you letters in the time before you found your way to me, but words failed me. The portrait of you that I received, which made me choose you, seems to have robbed me of my ability to put to paper how I feel, and so you have been left alone with your thoughts during what I can only imagine has been a trying month._

_Fear not, Liebling [_ _6], I will make sure that your worries are eased. I promise that I will take good care of you and I hope that you will be happy, here. _

_I will let you rest before the wedding. Know that I am counting down the minutes until we are finally one._

_Yours,_

_Louis_

Harry pressed his lips together, fighting back a smile. He had been warned that the king was a hopeless romantic, yet nothing had prepared him for that letter. It was sweet, yes, but also quite a bit intense for someone who had only ever seen a portrait of Harry. Still, it reassured him for what was to come. The king had good intentions and he truly wanted Harry happy. Harry doubted he could ever be happy so far away from civilisation, but if he could avoid unhappiness, he supposed he could settle for the boring, grey middle point between them. 

\- 

The wedding was planned for the next day, to allow Harry a night of rest before the festivities. Whoever arranged for this had anticipated that Harry would sleep on his first night away from home, in a strange castle with no one who knew him present. They had anticipated wrong. 

His evening meal was brought to him in his bedroom by a footman who barely spoke to him. A knot formed in Harry's throat and he struggled to eat a few bites of the food. It was good, but he felt like a nest of vipers had settled in his stomach. The silence was deafening, only broken by the sound of Harry's cutlery hitting the plate, and soon it came close to driving him mad. He gave up on eating and opened the window, hoping that the sounds coming from outside would alleviate his anxiety. No sooner had he unlatched and pulled the window opened that he closed it again. They were too high in the Alps and the only thing he heard was the howling of the wind, like moaning spectres roaming around the castle. He would have nightmares if he left the window opened. 

He had packed some of his favourite books for the road and as memories, but he could not bring himself to open them. Instead, he slipped into the high, plush bed earlier than he could ever remember going to bed and wished for sleep to come. 

As he lay in bed, the silence that had nearly choked him earlier seemed to lift, giving way to noises that sent shivers down his spine. Cracks and creaks, imagined footsteps in the distance, and the wind, the dreadful wind sounding like ghostly whispers, surrounding Harry and bringing to his mind terror like he had not felt since childhood. Despite his lamp, the darkness only thickened as time trickled by, until it was scarier for the lamp to be on, it's small golden halo feeble against the horrors Harry imagined lurked just outside of its light. 

Still, despite the fear coursing through his veins like ice, Harry drifted to sleep after what felt like hours of tossing and turning, only to be brought back awake with a jolt. Outside his door, approaching slowly, came the unmistakable sound of footsteps. They were wrong, though. Something was off with them. They were too slow, dragging yet sounding sharp against the floor, like something was tapping it rhythmically. Harry held his breath as they neared the door and, trembling, he began praying when they stopped and he heard the laboured breath of whatever creature had made its way to his room. He shut his eyes tightly and pulled the covers over his head, his eyes shut tight, trembling like a leaf. 

Time stood still as Harry waited for something to happen, either the door creaking open or for the footsteps to recede, his blood rushing in his ears loud enough that he worried he would miss whatever came next. Just as Harry worried he might die of fright at any second, the footsteps moved away, slowly disappearing until he could not hear them anymore. 

He did not drift to sleep for the rest of the night, staring at the underside of the baldaquin until dawn began lifting away the darkness, waving away Harry's fears like smoke. Before long, an army of footmen invaded his bedroom, entering without knocking and pulling him out of bed to get him ready for the wedding. 

They stripped him, scrubbed him, covered him in perfume and dressed him up in his wedding clothes, then insisted that he eat the food they brought, watching over like hawks to make sure he did. When they were satisfied, they left, telling him to wait until it was time for the wedding. He had a few hours ahead of him and he was free to explore the castle, if he wished. 

He did not wish to explore the castle. He wished to go home. He could hear his mother telling him to toughen up, he was about to become a prince, but at the moment he cared very little about titles. He wanted his old life back, he was tired and scared and he missed his mother. 

The time for the wedding came, even as Harry hoped it would not, and he was escorted to the ceremony by a pair of footmen, as though the king worried Harry would try to run away. The castle was slightly less scary in the light of day, but the silence through it was still too much for Harry. The wedding guests must have been told to stay quiet, he thought, and his mind wandered to imagining how many people would be there to witness the marriage. As worried and scared as he was, he still wanted people to believe he was happy to become prince, even if he were not. He wanted to make other lords jealous of his luck. 

Harry was brought to a high, blue and golden-ceilinged room filled with purple columns and an intricately designed floor. At the other end of the room were two thrones and the King was sat on one of them. The only other person in the room was Cardinal von Steichele, or at least that was who Harry assumed he was. His father had told him who would officiate the ceremony, like that was a detail Harry needed to know. He was much more interested in the colour scheme. 

Harry's heart sank. There were no guests to the wedding. The room was completely empty. This was not how he had imagined his marriage would go. His hopes and dreams of an extravagant banquet, of celebrating their union through the night, were all gone. It was true, the rumours that the King never had guests over. He could not even bring himself to invite his family to his own wedding. 

Harry swallowed and let out a yelp when one of the footman gave him a light push forward. He began walking across the room, his footsteps echoing around the vast, empty hall. As he neared the throne, Harry had his first look at the king. 

He had delicate features and eyes as blue as the sky peeking through the windows. Harry smiled, glad to see that he was not too old or ugly. He might be able to fall in love with a beautiful king. 

When Harry was near the few steps leading to the thrones, the king stood up and, to Harry's surprise, reached for a cane and used it to get to the top of the stairs. Harry slowed down and frowned. No one had warned him that his betrothed was a cripple. Did they think it would change Harry's mind? 

They might not have been wrong to think that. 

" _Herr_ Harry," said the king, bowing to Harry before offering his arm. "I'm Louis. My friends call me Lou, if you want." He paused for a second. "You are even more beautiful than your portrait led me to imagine. 

Harry bowed, keeping his head down. " _Eure Majestät_ [7]." 

"Welcome to Neuschwanstein. I hope you will be happy here." 

Harry nodded. "I'm sure I will." 

Louis said nothing for a moment and Harry startled when he cleared his throat. "Let's… get married, then." 

"Yes," said Harry, climbing the stairs and ignoring the arm offered to him. 

The cardinal stepped forward and directed them where they should stand. Harry barely registered when the ceremony began, his mind was swirling with worries and anxious thoughts. A cripple would never accompany him into society, it made sense now that the king was a hermit. Harry would never dance with his husband, he would never go horseback riding or hike through the Alps. He would stay indoors, isolated from the rest of the world, until he grew old and grey and no one wanted to look at him anymore. 

Tears rolled down his cheeks and he sniffled. He did not dare wipe them away. Louis brushed Harry's hand with his, as though to comfort him. Harry moved his hand out of his reach. 

"Be strong, _Schatz_ [8]. It's almost over," Louis whispered. 

And it was. The cardinal called for the rings and a footman brought them forward. Harry let Louis slip it on his finger and he mirrored the motion on him, and that was it. They were married. He was now Prince Consort of Bavaria. He felt hollow and like a trap had just closed around him. 

"Come, _Gemahl_ [9]. Food will be served for us in the dining hall. We can discuss your coronation and how you'd like it to go," said Louis, once more offering his arm to Harry. 

Harry ignored it and nodded, his stomach sinking. He was not even prince yet. He did not think he could bear any more disappointment that day. 

Noticing that Harry was not responding to his offer, Louis turned and made his way towards the door, walking slowly with the help of his cane. Dragging steps and a sharp sound: the footsteps Harry heard the night before. His eyes widened. 

"You came by my room last night," said Harry, hurrying to catch up with Louis. 

"What's that, _Schatz_? Oh, yes, I did. I wanted to welcome you, but you were not making a sound, I assumed you were asleep." He smiled at Harry, warm and happy. The smile slipped off his face soon after. "I assumed wrong, I imagine. You look exhausted. Was the bed uncomfortable?" 

"Your footsteps scared me," said Harry, his tone accusatory. He did not try to hide his frustration. "I was almost asleep, but it scared me and I could not sleep for the rest of the night." 

Instead of replying to Harry's frustration with more anger, Louis nodded. "Neuschwanstein can be quite scary at night, yes. You can come to my room tonight if you would feel safer with company." 

At his words, Harry bit his lip. He understood at once what Louis meant. The wedding night was to take place, of course. Harry had been prepared for it by advisors on the way to the castle, though he was no blushing virgin and knew all he needed to know already. He nodded at the King and swallowed thickly. 

"I'll ask where to find you, yes." 

"Perfect. Let's go eat, now. I had the cooks make your favourite." 

Resigned, Harry took the arm that was offered to him and let the king lead him to the dining hall, his dread for the night to come making him feel numb. 

\- 

Despite Louis' best attempts to draw ideas out of Harry when discussing the coronation, Harry was nearly mute throughout the meal. The vipers that had taken residence in his belly were going wild, making him nauseous. He could not stomach more than a few bites and even the wine did nothing to ease his fear. Looking at Louis was too much to bear, reminding him of what was to come. He was terrified of the state of his body, underneath the clothes. Was his bad leg, the one that dragged when he walked, mangled? What horror was Harry going to see in a few hours, horrors he would have to pretend did not make him nauseous? 

"I have work to do," said Louis at the end of the meal, finishing his glass of wine as he spoke. "I will let you rest, you look exhausted. Or feel free to explore the castle. You're not a prisoner in your bedroom, this is your home, now." 

"Thank you," said Harry in a breath. "What time do you go to bed?" 

Louis shrugged. "Not very late, I'm already turning into an old man." He smiled. "Usually around ten. The invitation still stands, if you're too scared. My room is down the hall from yours." 

"Thank you," repeated Harry. 

Louis lingered for a moment longer, expecting Harry to say something more, but when he stayed resolutely silent, he pulled himself to his feet and walked away, letting the door close behind him. 

Harry hid his face in his hands, biting his lip hard to stop his tears from coming. He wanted his home, his mother, his friends. He did not want this wedding, did not even care about becoming a prince anymore, all he wanted was to be anywhere other than this stupid castle in the stupid Alps, away from the rest of the world. 

Taking a deep breath, Harry rose from the table and left the dining hall, heading for his bedroom. He was in no mood to explore the castle—with his luck, he would get lost and they would find his skeleton months from now. It was safer to go back to his room and prepare for the night to come. He shuddered to think of it. 

\- 

When the clock on the fire mantel of his room struck fifteen to ten, Harry got up from his seat by the fire and smoothed down the several layers of muslin of the nightshirt that had been added to his _trousseau_ in a panic the week before, for this night in particular. He grabbed a lamp and left his room, his bare feet freezing on the cold hard wood of the hallway. His steps were quiet, inaudible, and he felt like a ghost, an apparition haunting the deserted castle. 

Outside of Louis' room, Harry knocked, waiting for a reply. When he heard none, he tried the handle and gulped when it turned. Harry pushed the door open and entered the bedroom, holding the lamp before him to try and ward off the sharp sting of his fear. 

The room engulfed Harry as he walked in and his heart sped up with unease. The walls and ceiling were made of dark, carved wood, giving the room the air of an old medieval cathedral. It was oppressive and weighed on Harry's shoulders like someone was pressing down on them. The bed was pushed in a corner, it too made of dark wood, with an emerald bedspread and hangings. It was heavy with carvings and it reminded Harry of a confessional. The upper third of the walls were painted to look like scenes from stories Harry did not recognise. A large gold chandelier hung in the middle of the room, its candles lighted. Harry blew out his lamp and placed it on a table, knowing he did not have much time until the King came if the candles had already been lighted. 

Shaking with dread, Harry climbed on the bed, startled to see a painting of the Virgin Mary and the Christ above the headboard. He sat back against the pillows and rearranged his nightshirt around him, lifting it up his legs in what he hoped would be an enticing way. 

His nerves fraying as he waited, Harry's heart leaped in his throat when he heard Louis' telltale footsteps approaching the room. He held his breath when the door opened and closed his eyes, hoping he would be noticed soon so it would end as quickly as it could. 

"Harry?" said Louis, his voice soft as a whisper. 

"Louis," replied Harry, opening his eyes. "I came, as you asked." 

Louis frowned, cocking his head to the side. "I'm not following, _Schatz_." He took in what Harry was wearing, the way he was spread out on the bed, the exposed skin of his pale thighs, and a flush rose on his cheeks. "Oh, no, no, no. This is all a big misunderstanding!" He lifted his hands up and took a step back from the bed, his eyes the size of saucers. 

"It's our wedding night," continued Harry, licking his lips, chapped from biting them too much in the past hour. 

Shaking his head, Louis continued backing away until he bumped into a table and gripped its edge with both hands. "I only offered to help if you were too scared to sleep on your own. I had no… no other intentions. I don't care for the wedding night. It's not happening." 

"But the consummation…" 

"We can lie. I'm not putting you through this, Harry." 

Weary, Harry shifted closer to the edge of the bed and sat on his legs, careful to cover them with the nightshirt. "Why not? I… I'm not a virgin. I won't run away scared." 

"This is not the point! Neither am I, but I'm not… I am not expecting this from you. Not unless you truly want it and I know you don't. I can see you shaking with fright since the wedding." 

"Why did you marry me?" asked Harry, his anxiety slowly easing. 

"I had to marry someone. You looked beautiful in the portrait I was sent. I hoped I might find ways to make you as happy as seeing your portrait made me if I married you." He gulped audibly. "I expect nothing from you. If you never want to see me, we can do it this way. If you ever want to go live elsewhere, in Nymphenburg or the Residenz, we can arrange it. If you want a new palace all for yourself, if you want it to be modelled after Versailles or the Taj Mahal, whatever you want, you can have. I will never say no to you." 

Louis spoke with emotion, his eyes never leaving Harry. It was too much to bear, the weight of his gaze, and Harry bowed his head, nodding when he stopped talking. 

"I will remember it… am I free to go?" 

"Unless you're too afraid to sleep on your own?" 

Harry shook his head, jumping off the bed. "I'll manage. Goodnight." 

"Goodnight," replied Louis. 

Harry hurried out, barely resisting the urge to run. He felt lighter than he had since he arrived. 

\- 

Winter settled around the castle as the days went by and it seemed to Harry that the cold weather had seeped into his heart as well. Despite Louis' best efforts, Harry never became comfortable into the castle. His room was in the process of being decorated the way he wanted it to, like Louis had promised, so that the dreary walls would be covered in gold-trimmed white panels to accentuate the French-inspired furniture Harry had requested. Yet, it did not feel like home. 

What made it worse for Harry, after the disappointment of his wedding, was the complete heartbreak of his coronation. Again, no one was invited. It was done in private, a quick ordeal that was over before Harry could appreciate it. After it was done, Louis went back to his routine, disappearing for days in his library or in the chapel, and if it were up to Harry to carve a space for himself in it, he never found the energy to do it. 

The isolation was getting to him and the endless repetition of days with nothing to do and nights where he slept with one eye opened, in fear, were driving him mad. He craved companionship, someone to talk to. The stilted conversations he had with Louis when they ate together were not enough. He needed to feel seen, to be acknowledged, to be heard. 

He also missed his family and his home. He missed the melody of his mother's voice as she directed the staff through the house, missed the beehive-like sounds of a busy household surrounding him, he even missed his father and all their disagreements. The servants at the castle were like ghosts, silent and only visible out of the corner of the eye. Harry tried to befriend footmen, the ones who were roughly his age, but they skittered away whenever he attempted a conversation. 

The final blow, Harry's breaking point, happened on a cold December morning. It had been cold in Neuschwanstein since November, the cold was not the issue at hand. Harry had forgotten what it felt like to be warm and he spent his days huddled by the fireplace in the dining hall, banished as he was from his bedroom while the renovations took place. What happened on that fateful morning that changed it all for Harry was the snow. A thick, heavy layer of snow was covering everything in sight when he woke up. Harry's heart sank as he looked out the window after getting out of bed and hurrying into warm clothes. He had a bad feeling about what snow might meant this deep into the Alps. 

"Good morning," said Louis when Harry entered the hall. He did not look up from the letter he was reading. 

"Morning," muttered Harry, slumping into a chair and reaching for a piece of toast. "It snowed." 

"So it did." Louis looked up, reaching for his cup and taking a sip from it. "If you have important letters to send, make sure to do it soon before the roads are closed for the winter." 

With the toast hanging halfway to his mouth, Harry froze. "The what? What do you mean?" 

"Another snowfall like this one and the roads will become unusable. We'll get mail maybe once a month, but it won't be reliable until the spring." 

"What… what if we want to go places?" 

"Like where? Munich?" 

"For example, yes," replied Harry, working hard to keep his voice level. "If we wanted to leave Neuschwanstein." 

"It could be arranged, but it wouldn't be recommended." 

"So, we're stuck here all winter? What about… Christmas?" 

"What about it?" Louis was nonchalant as he talked, as though he was not crushing Harry's spirit with every word he said. Harry felt profound hatred for him in that moment. 

"I thought I would go to my family's home for it." 

"Oh, you never said." Louis frowned. "It might be too late. You should have left before the snow. I don't know how Prussian winters are, but it sounds from your surprise like they're different from ours." 

The words sent Harry's mind reeling. It was not possible, what Louis was saying. Through the tough days since the wedding, Harry had clung to the hope that he would get to spend Christmas with his family, and now he was being told it would not be possible, that he would have to spend the holiday alone in a frigid castle, away from his loved ones. 

"Don't you want to spend it with yours?" 

"Not really," replied Louis, shrugging. "We'll make it fun, here, don't worry." He smiled. "My birthday is on the 24th." 

Harry pushed his plate away and got up, shaking his head. "I'm not hungry." His voice was rough and he was fighting back tears. "I'm going to my room." 

The room spun as Harry got to his feet and he hurried out of the hall, letting the door slam shut behind him. He did not want anyone to see him cry, he would not give them the satisfaction. His life was over. 

\- 

The state of despair Harry had sunk into at the news that he was now a prisoner of this castle he hated so much deepened with every passing day, most of them bringing about a thicker cover of snow. As Louis had predicted, the roads were closed not long after their conversation and Harry wondered, though he would never bother to ask, how it could be that it was acceptable for the _king_ to be cut off from the government for months. He supposed he should know these things as prince consort, but he really, honestly, could not find the energy to care. 

He already was not doing much of his days, but at least he could move around the castle. After his conversation with Louis, though, he found that he had no desire to do anything other than lay in bed or drag his body to the closest armchair. The only good news he had had in days was when he was told his room was ready. It meant he did not have to leave it during the day anymore. That was both a blessing and a curse. 

Louis did not try to come and talk to him. Harry would hear him walk from and to his bedroom morning and night, but he never stopped. It was not that Harry wanted to talk to him, he had nothing to say to him, but it hurt to know his husband, the man who got him in that situation in the first place, did not care. 

He used to be able to read, too. Louis had an extensive library and many books Harry had heard about and had wanted to read. He used to, but all he could do now was stare into his fireplace at the dancing fire until his eyes itched and the images of the flames were burned into them. 

The days went by, blending into one, until it seemed like something snapped in Harry's mind. He had been pondering about what he might do to get home for Christmas during the long hours of idleness that filled his days. He thought back to the road leading to the castle, how far it was from the nearest town of Schwangau, and he began wondering whether one could walk there. If he could get himself to Schwangau, he would be back into the civilised world and he might be able to pay someone for a ride to his parents' house, or at the very least to a train station. The real world, outside of this dreadful, isolated castle, did not stop working because of a bit of snow. It was just like the king, really, to want to live someplace that existed by the rules of fairy tales. Well, if that was so, Harry would be like a character out of one and he would be brave. 

He would walk to Schwangau. 

It had taken their carriage an hour to get to the castle and that was while going uphill with heavy luggage. Harry could make it in an hour, too. He could walk downhill as fast as a burdened horse could walk uphill, he was sure of it. He could even bring a light suitcase along, for such a short distance. He had walked longer for picnics, back home. 

This decision rekindled something inside of him, bringing back the energy he had been lacking. He would go down for dinner, that night, and explain his plan to Louis, and there were no reasons why he would tell Harry he could not go. He was not a prisoner and it was perfectly reasonable to walk for a meagre hour. Harry would come back, he was not running away from his marriage, he only wanted to see his family for Christmas. It was a flawless plan. 

At half past seven, Harry went downstairs, dressed for the first time in almost two weeks, and he entered the dining hall only to stop in the doorway in confusion. The table was not dressed and no footmen seemed to be working at it. Dinner had been at half past seven since his first day at the castle, it could not possibly have changed. He did not know Louis much, but he knew without a doubt that he was a man of habits. He would not change his routine. 

Leaving the room, Harry wandered in the deserted halls, his footsteps echoing in a way he would never feel comfortable with, until he found a footman he could question. 

"Where's my husband? Why isn't dinner being served?" He had learned that asking for Louis or for the king, two options he had tried, made the skittish men cringe. It had been a lot of trial and error getting to this vocabulary. 

" _Seiner Hoheit_ [10] is on a retreat right now." 

"A what?" 

The footman clicked his tongue. Harry needed to work on being respected by them, it was becoming ridiculous how they treated him. 

" _Seiner Hoheit_ has cloistered himself in the chapel to pray." 

"Why?" 

"I did not personally ask him, _kleiner Prinz_. It happens a few times a year, especially at this time of year." 

Little prince? He had called Harry _little prince_? He really needed to have a word with Louis about the way he was treated by his staff. 

"Well, I need to talk to him. It's important," insisted Harry, lifting his chin up to try and look more imposing. "Direct me to the chapel." 

"I'm afraid I can't." 

"Fine! I'll find it on my own!" 

Harry stormed away. He could find a chapel. The castle was not so big that he could not find a bloody chapel on his own. 

He did find it after a while and he charged forward, ignoring the guards by the door until they held him back with hands on his shoulders. 

"Let me through," ordered Harry, pushing against their hands. 

"By order of the king, no one gets through." 

"I'm his _husband_." 

"No one." 

Harry felt the urge to throw a tantrum grow inside of him, but he eyed the guards and understood that he would be asking for trouble if he raised his voice and tried to argue. They were on Louis's side, like everyone else in this castle, and if Louis had not warned them that his _husband_ was allowed through, then perhaps Harry would just leave without telling him. He could find out after he left the chapel that Harry was gone, see how it felt like to be left in the dark about where his spouse was. 

Angry, upset, and insulted by the treatment he received, Harry stomped back to his room and began packing for his journey. His dinner had been brought up to him so he ate as he prepared. 

He glanced out the window and saw that a light snow was falling. It would be wiser to wait for the morning to leave, but he did not want to be wise. He wanted to be out of this castle, away from these disrespectful people who cared not about him, about what he might want or need. Downing his glass of wine, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and reached for his thickest coat and his warmest boots, finishing off with a heavy scarlet cloak his sister had gifted him for his wedding. 

No one stopped him when he made his way to the imposing double doors and the guards opened them for him without asking where he was headed. It stung, he had hoped people might try to reason with him, but it just went to show how little he mattered. 

The air was not as cold as Harry had feared and he heaved a sigh of relief. He looked up at the deep blue sky, smiling at the dance of the snowflakes falling lazily in the glow of his lantern. It was the perfect weather to walk, he decided. His mood lifted and he found a new spring to his step that pushed him forward with enthusiasm. In a day, he would be back in his home and they would have his favourite foods prepared for his return, and then it would be Christmas and he would see his nieces, it would all be perfect. 

Lost in thoughts, Harry did not notice the fork in the road, nor did he read the sign telling him that he should have gone left. Instead, he continued forward. As he went on, the snow thickened and he began to wonder if he might have made a mistake when he realised there were no sleigh tracks anymore. He knew a sleigh had brought in mail that morning, he should still see the tracks the way he did until… a while ago. He could not tell how long it had been since he was wadding through snow reaching to the middle of his calves. 

Harry turned to look at the way he had come from. The snowfall had intensified and that, too, he had not noticed either. He was too deep in his thoughts, imagining the way his family would react when they found him on their doorstep and then salivating as he imagined the Christmas meal, and he really should have finished his dinner because he was getting hungry again. 

He decided to retrace his steps, figuring he had missed a turn. It could not have been that long ago. It was getting harder to see ahead of him, the snowfall now an almost opaque wall of white, smothering, overwhelming. Everywhere he looked, all he saw was white, the trees barely visible around him, and were they not closing in? The path had not been this narrow when he first took it, he spread his arms to check and felt his heart clench when both of his hands hit tree trunks. 

He had wandered off the path, but it was fine, he would just retrace his steps again. He was not lost. The mere thought of the word made bile rise up in his throat, but he shook his head and tightened the hood of his cape around his face to shield it from the snowflakes. His bag was already growing heavy on his shoulder, but he knew it was his panic. He had more stamina than this. 

Retracing his steps did not work, he realised after a while. He still had not found the path and it was now impossible to see even a foot ahead of him. His breath was laboured, both from fear and the efforts it took to walk through the fine, powdery snow, and he was sweating underneath the layers of clothing he was wearing. He knew better than to remove them, though. He knew how it went, to die from cold. He had read about it. 

Despite his aching, tired arm, he lifted the lantern higher to try and see through the darkness and the snow, but it was useless. He could not tell where he was going and his footsteps were being erased almost as soon as he took them. 

Harry was lost. 

He tried to wipe away his tears, knowing that they would only freeze and hurt him more. He was not too far from the castle, surely he could find his way back once the snow stopped. He could not be more than half a mile away from it, he had not been walking that long. It was fine. He would not cry. 

A howl broke through his willpower and he let out a sob. A second howl, then a third, then a whole pack of wolves howled, and he knew, in that moment, that he would die. Either from the cold or devoured by wolves, but he would die. A glance at his pocket watch told him he had been walking aimlessly for two hours, and it was a shock to see how two small hours could change a life, or in his case, end it. 

Resigned, exhausted and shivering, he slumped down against a tree and sat down in the snow, huddling underneath his cloak and giving in to the terrified tears he had been fighting for the past two hours. In a moment of panic, thinking about the wolves, he blew out his lantern and immediately regretted it as the deepest, heaviest darkness he had ever known enveloped him. 

He did not want to die, but it would happen. He would never be found, no one knew he had left. They would find his frozen body in the spring, perhaps thinking he had run away to be with a secret lover when he went missing, but never suspecting he got lost in the woods because surely no one was stupid enough to get lost right outside the front door of a castle. He would be remembered as the idiot prince and his family would have to hide in shame at the legacy he left for them. The shortest reign in Bavarian history, a stain on its pages: the _Prinzgemahl_ of two months. 

His consciousness began slipping and Harry let it go. He gave up. It was over. He almost felt at peace before it all went black. 

\- 

Harry was warm. It was not really a thought, more like a certainty. He was warm, and dry, and he was alive, probably. He slipped away for a moment, but then came back with more certainty, feeling now the weight of something both soft and heavy on his chest. With effort, he managed to open his eyes and what he saw did not make sense, at first. It looked like the canopy of his bed, but it could not be. He was dead in the woods. 

"Harry?" 

With difficulty, Harry turned his head towards the voice and saw Louis, his face ravaged with worry. 

"Oh, _Schatz_ , you're awake!" cried Louis, squeezing his hand tighter in both of his, and only then did Harry notice that he was, indeed, holding his hand. 

"L—Lou?" replied Harry, giving up after the first syllable of his name. His mouth felt like cotton. 

"Shh, _Liebling_ , don't talk. You're too weak to talk." 

"W-where…?" 

"Home. You're safe, don't worry. Just rest." 

The cogs in his mind were slowly beginning to turn again and he swallowed thickly, his thirstiness crashing over him like a wave. "Water, please," he croaked. 

"Wait here, I'll go get the doctor," said Louis hurriedly. He pulled himself up and grabbed his cane to head out of the room, and perhaps it was because Harry was barely conscious, but it seemed to him like he had a harder time walking than usual. 

Louis returned with the doctor after a moment and he sat back down in his seat by Harry's bed with a grunt of pain. Harry let the doctor examine him, coughing when he was asked to, breathing in deeply and exhaling, glad that the doctor was holding up his weight when he sat him up. Harry did not think he had the strength to sit upright on his own. After a moment, satisfied with his examination, the doctor helped Harry down and began taking notes. 

"Will he be all right, doctor?" asked Louis, his worries tinting his words. 

"His heartbeat is fast and I don't like the sound of his breathing, but his temperature is back to normal. Bed rest until further notice." 

"He won't have to move from there, don't worry," replied Louis before dismissing the doctor. He turned to Harry. "Do you need anything?" 

Harry frowned. He had already asked. "Water, like I said," he said. 

"Oh! Right, right," replied Louis. Using his cane, he pushed himself up with a grimace and went to fill a glass for Harry, bringing it over. "Careful, take slow, small sips." 

He put the glass to Harry's lips, but Harry shook his head and lifted a heavy, sore arm to hold the glass himself. "I can do it." 

Again, Harry noticed how painful it looked when Louis sat down. He chose to ignore it and continued drinking his water, every sip relieving him more. He placed the empty glass on the nightstand and sank deeper into the pillows, sighing and closing his eyes. 

"How are you feeling?" asked Louis, making Harry open his eyes to look at him. 

"Better. Not good, but better." 

Breathing in shakily, Louis nodded. "What were you thinking?" he asked, voice strained as though it was a struggle to control it. "Why did you leave like that, alone, during a snowstorm? I try… I told you to ask if you wanted to go back to the city and we would arrange it, I told you, you can get anything you want, but you need to ask—" 

"Hold on a second," interrupted Harry. "I couldn't ask." 

"Have I not been kind to you? And compassionate? Are you scared of me?" 

Harry huffed and rolled his eyes. "No. I'm not scared of you," he replied, making sure that his voice showed just how ridiculous the idea was. "But I can't ask you something if you're locked in the chapel and guards won't let me in!" 

"What?" 

"No one would tell me where you were and when I got it out of them, they wouldn't let me in! How am I supposed to ask for something if you're not there?!" Harry coughed and reached for his glass of water, groaning when he remembered it was empty. 

Louis noticed and slowly, tediously, went to fill it back. He only replied when he was back in his chair, rubbing at one of his thighs. Harry wondered if he even noticed he was doing it. 

"I never gave orders to keep you out. They misunderstood me." 

"They hate me, yes. That mustn't have been hard to misunderstand." 

Taken aback, Louis cocked his head to the side. "Who hates you?" 

"Everyone here." 

"I don't hate you," he replied, shaking his head. 

"Not you! But your staff! They do the bare minimum of what I ask and… and I get called _kleiner Prinz_! They don't respect me as your husband! No one asked where I was going when I left! They probably wanted me to die alone in the woods, they'd be free of me!" 

"Don't say that. You're upset, you're not thinking reasonably. The staff is very loyal to me, they know that you're an extension of me." 

"They need to be reminded," huffed Harry, crossing his arms over his chest. "No one will talk to me unless they have to." 

"I… I had no idea." Louis ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up comically. "I told them to treat you warmly and to be welcoming… Is this why you stopped leaving your bedroom?" 

Harry shook his head. "No. But yes, also. I was just…" he sighed. "I was sad." 

"I understand. I get sad, too. And I lock myself in a chapel, away from everyone." He gave Harry a small, half-smile. "Why did you leave?" 

Harry shrugged. "I wanted to go home for Christmas. I was going to walk to Schwangau and then make my way home from there." 

"I'm sorry," said Louis with a sigh. "I'm sorry I could not make this happen for you." He shifted in his chair and his face contorted in pain. "I'll make it better next year, I promise." 

"What's wrong with your leg?" asked Harry, unwilling to let himself think about the fact that he was now officially a prisoner, bedridden as he was. He could not think about spending Christmas away from his family at the moment, he would lose his mind. 

"Generally, or…?" 

"It looks more painful than usual." 

Louis nodded and massaged his thigh a few times. "I was part of the search party to find you. I…" he hesitated. "It was me who found you, actually. I jumped off my horse and into the snow to fetch you, I lifted you up on my horse and brought you back inside once at the castle. You've seen me move around, it was too much for my leg. I'm paying the price, now." He looked at Harry for a moment. "I don't regret it." 

Stunned, Harry blinked a few times. "You sent a search party for me?" 

"Of course," replied Louis. "And I'm glad I did, I almost rode right past you. It's a miracle you chose to wear a scarlet cloak, it's the only reason I saw you." His voice wavered and Harry realised, for the first time, that perhaps he really did care about him. "You were unconscious and so cold when I picked you up. I worried it was already too late." 

Harry gulped and pulled the covers tighter around him. "Was I unconscious for a long time?" 

"About a day. I was very worried," said Louis, the waver in his voice betraying his attempt at concealing his true emotions. "But you're all good, now. Soon, you'll be back on your feet and it will be a bad memory we can forget." 

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but he held his tongue. Louis was obviously rattled by the events and while Harry did not mind being petty or acting like a brat, he felt it would be cruel to reply negatively. Instead, he nodded and finished his glass of water in silence. 

"Thank you," he finally said. "For saving me." 

"Of course, _Liebling_. I'll let you rest, now, you've gone pale. I'll wake you up when dinner is served." 

Once again, Harry held his tongue and only nodded. He closed his eyes and was asleep before Louis had made his slow, painful exit out of the room. 

\- 

They settled into a new routine over the next days. Harry slept a lot, his recovery draining all of his energy, leaving him weak. Some days he had the energy to read, but most of the time, he only awoke for his meals. Louis began joining him for them. It had annoyed Harry, the first few times, because he felt like he was being watched to make sure he would not run away again, but he grew to enjoy his husband's company. Louis was a good conversationist once he got over his initial timidity and Harry was surprised to see he had grown to look forward to when Louis would join him. 

His leg was not getting better, though, even after nearly two weeks. Harry was increasingly worried for him. It did not seem normal that it took so long unless something worse than what he had told Harry happened. 

"Louis?" Harry asked when his curiosity got the best of him. 

It was nearly three weeks since the incident. Christmas had come and gone; they spent it in Harry's room and Harry was mortified to see that Louis had presents for him. He had none, but he reassured Harry that he expected nothing out of him, that he only wanted to spoil him. Spoiling was an understatement, Harry realised, when he unwrapped box after box of jewellery, sapphires and diamonds and emeralds on necklaces, bracelets and even a diadem, so many of them that it pierced through Harry's happiness to plant a seed of worry at the cost of it all. It had to be _obscene_. He made a note to try harder, to be a better husband. He owed it to Louis. 

"Hm?" he replied around a mouthful of food. 

"Your leg isn't getting better." 

Louis washed down his food with a sip of wine and shook his head. "It never will." 

"No, I meant, after the incident." 

He shook his head. "Oh, no, it's mostly back to normal. Well, my normal, not your normal." 

"It still looks painful when you walk," insisted Harry. He did not want Louis to minimise his pain. 

"It'll always be painful, _Schatz_." 

Harry sighed, annoyed that the had to spell it out for Louis. "What happened to it? To make it so painful?" 

"Oh, you don't want to hear that story, it's not a good one." 

"I asked, didn't I?" 

Louis lifted an eyebrow and let out a chuckle. "Very well, if you insist." He cleared his throat and took another sip of wine before he talked. "It's a battle wound that healed wrong. I, huh. My very dear friend was injured and I ran across the battlefield to try and drag him back behind our lines so he could get help, but I made us a target. They… they shot at us and I got hit in the thigh, but they killed him. And, huh…" Louis cleared his throat again. "The wound got infected and festered. A lot of… a lot of it had to be removed to save me." 

"A lot of what?" asked Harry in a breath, eyes wide, enraptured by the story. 

"A lot to my leg." 

Harry shuddered, unable to stop it before it overcame him. "You mean, huh…" 

"Muscle and flesh, yes. So it'll hurt forever." 

"This is…" began Harry, barely able to hide his amazement at the story. 

"Disgusting, I know." 

"I was going to say romantic. This is so romantic. You must have loved him dearly." 

Louis nodded and finished his cup of wine. "I did. I had resolved to be alone for the rest of my life after he died, but… but then I found you." 

Surprised, Harry found nothing to reply and, to his own surprise, he felt his cheeks grow warm. He ducked his head and looked at his plate, finding his appetite gone. "I haven't been much." 

"I don't expect anything from you. You give me what you want, and can. It will always be enough." Louis got up, leaning heavily on his cane, and picked up their plates with his free hand. "I'll let you rest. I think tomorrow we could try to have you walk a little bit, you look strong enough to me." 

Harry nodded, still at a loss for words. "Okay," was all he replied. "I do feel stronger." 

"Excellent news. Good day, Harry." 

Harry watched him leave, confused when he understood that he was disappointed and would have preferred if he had stayed longer. He was not sure what to do with this realisation. 

\- 

Louis' words stuck with Harry well into the night. He had never seen him as anything other than a stoic, boring, and aloof monarch; he had never given any thought to the possibility that Louis had a rich inner life, unknown to Harry and carrying its own weight. He had never allowed Louis to have depth, in his mental picture of him and he realised now how unfair it had been. Maybe Louis had a reason to live in isolation. Maybe he had lost something so big that he completely shut down, and Harry nearly put him through it again. He did not have the audacity to pretend he might ever equate to the man Louis lost, but it could not be good to make him fear he would lose another partner. 

It kept Harry awake that evening, tossing and turning until he could not take it anymore and sat up in his bed with an annoyed sigh. He had not tried to walk on his own in weeks, but he felt strong enough to attempt it. 

Slowly, he moved his legs out of bed and tried putting weight on them. When he felt confident they would not give out, he stood up, grabbed his bedside lamp and made his way out of his room. The castle was awake with the nightly sounds that used to terrify Harry, creaks and groans as the wood settled around him. He had grown to like these sounds since his accident. To be fair, he had grown to like the castle in all of its austere, preposterous grandeur. It felt safe now that he had experienced true fear. It almost felt like home. 

Timidly, he knocked on Louis' door and waited for a reply. He held his breath, ready to return to his room when the anticipation got too strong and he regretted his choice, but before he could flee, he heard Louis calling him in. 

"Hey," said Louis, looking up from the novel he was reading by the fire. 

"Hey. I couldn't sleep." 

Louis smiled, lifting his book. "Me neither. Come on over." He watched as Harry crossed the room and sat in the chair opposite his. "You're walking good. I think we can officially lift your bed rest starting now, hm?" He let out a small laugh, mostly to himself. "I suppose we might have lifted it a while ago, but I was worried about your recovery, I wanted it to go well." 

"I'm sick of laying in bed all day. I'll lift my own bed rest if you don't," replied Harry, pushing up his chin in playful defiance. 

It made Louis laugh louder. "Very well. Consider it lifted. Welcome back to the world of the living." 

Harry did not share in the laughter. "I never apologised for what I did." 

"What did you do, exactly?" asked Louis, surprised. 

"For putting myself in needless danger and nearly dying. For scaring you." 

With a nod, Louis turned serious. "I appreciate your apology. You're forgiven, you've been for weeks. Just promise me you'll talk to me—" Louis lifted a finger when Harry tried to interrupt him with a protest. "Promise me you'll talk to me and I promise to always be available to be talked to. Is that good?" 

It was Harry's turn to nod. "Yes. I promise. Pinky promise." 

Louis' eyes crinkled as he smiled. "I haven't heard that phrase in a very long time." He extended his little finger and hooked it with Harry's, laughing as he did. "I promise." 

Harry shook their entwined fingers before he let go and leaned back in his chair, turning his attention to the fire dancing in the hearth. He extended his legs to warm his feet and smiled, content. 

"Can I say something?" he asked after a while, the silence only broken by the crackle of the wood burning. 

"Of course." 

Without looking away from the hearth, Harry shrugged. "Your choice of decor for your bedroom is horrifying." 

Louis let out a gasp of surprise. "I… what? It's not!" 

"It looks like a chapel! Your bed is like a confessional! You can't deny it!" continued Harry, pointing at the bed. 

"It's… I like it that way! Just like you like yours looking like… like Versailles!" 

"I know I do, I modelled it after Versailles. My choices make sense. Versailles is renowned for being beautiful. Your choices are… very medieval." 

"Well, I like medieval." 

Harry glanced at Louis to make sure he was not truly offended and he grinned to see him looking amused. "It's a bold choice." 

"So's deciding to walk to the nearest town in a snow storm." 

Harry snorted a laugh at Louis' reply. "Well, I like nearly dying." 

"It's a bold choice," replied Louis before laughing, too. 

Harry felt a tug at his heart, something almost like yearning, and he swallowed thickly. "You're funny," he said, grabbing on to the first thought that formed in his mind. "I didn't know you could be funny." 

"I'm not completely dead inside, yet." 

"That's reassuring. I'm still quite young for a dead-inside-husband." 

"You're helping." 

Again, another tug. Harry shifted in his chair. "After… the man you told me about earlier?" 

"Hm," was all Louis replied before falling silent for a moment. "I suppose, yes." 

"Were you going to marry him?" 

"He had no title, so no, but I wasn't going to marry at all." 

"Do you want to tell me about him?" 

Louis nodded, but was silent for a while before he began telling Harry about his former lover. He talked of how they met and fell in love, how Louis courted him for weeks before he finally won him over; about their nights walking around Nymphenburg, arm in arm, building worlds of possibilities with their words, planning a future together. He talked about the war and the undercurrent of fear he carried with him over months until the worst he barely dared to imagine happened. He talked of his sorrow after, of turning in on himself, of being unable to stand the company of others. He spoke in a half-voice, barely above a breath, his eyes fixed on the hearth and his hands spasmodically stroking the arms of the chair. He was the image of self-imposed control, of wilful detachment. 

Harry listened, drinking in his words, his heart breaking with every passing second. He saw the chasm of Louis' heart, and he reached out his hand, touching his gently. 

"I'm here, now. I'll be better. I…" Harry licked his lip, searching for the right words. "I understand you better, now. I thought… the castle, the isolation, I thought it was misanthropy. I thought you hated people and I… I love people. I thought we were complete opposites and that I would never be able to relate to you. But I get it, now. I understand. I'm here." 

Louis turned to look at him, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "Thank you." He gave Harry's hand a squeeze. "It's your birthday, soon. Let's have a ball." 

Harry perked up in his chair, cocking his head to the side. His heart was running ahead of him, already beating harder. "Really?" 

"Really. Nymphenburg has the better ballroom, but…" he paused. "I haven't been since… the war, so it would need a deep cleaning to be ready on time." 

"No, let's have it here," replied Harry, though he longed to visit the famed Nymphenburg. "This is our home. People can come to us." More resolute, Harry nodded. "What about the roads? The snow is thicker than ever." 

"It's my husband's birthday. We'll open the roads for my husband's birthday." 

Harry smiled, wide and almost painful to his reddened cheeks. "Oh, I would be so happy! Can I start working on a list of people to invite? I will need the names of those you _absolutely_ don't want to see here, and those who just _must_ be invited otherwise it would cause a scandal, and oh, there'll be a menu to pick and musicians to hire, I don't suppose you have what we'd call a 'regular' orchestra, hm? Oh, this will need to be sorted, and…" Harry stopped mid-sentence, words wanting to spill out without control, but his mind taking over for a moment. "Thank you," he said, tightening his grip on Louis' hand. 

"You're welcome, _mein Schwanenprinz_ [11]. Now, go to bed, hm, you have a lot of preparations to plan tomorrow, you'll need a good night of sleep." 

Harry obeyed, getting up. Before he left, he hesitated for a second before he placed a quick kiss on Louis' forehead. He left before he could see how Louis reacted. 

\- 

The preparations for the ball occupied all of Harry's time from that moment on. He had invitations to write, and he insisted he should write them himself, so that people felt personally invited. He had to pick what would be served and sample the suggestions to make sure they were good. A theme had to be chosen because a proper ball _had_ to have a theme. His was Versailles, which made Louis tease him relentlessly. He did not dislike the teasing, if he was entirely honest. 

Harry had never been one to easily relent control, he had to make sure everything was up to his standards, so when Louis announced that he was no longer allowed in the Singers' Hall while the room was being redecorated to fit the theme, he protested and whined. Part of it was that he was eager to see how the room would be outfitted, bust mostly it was that he felt anxious to leave it up to someone else who might not understand his vision. 

Louis held on and Harry gave up after a while, worried that he might push it too far, anger Louis and make him cancel the whole thing. Instead, Harry focused his nerves on the kitchens, nearly setting camp there to oversee the cooking. After two days of his overbearing presence, Harry supposed the cooks complained because Louis asked him to 'please stop driving the cooks mad, they know what they're doing'. 

It was the first ball Harry was in charge of, people had to understand just how stressful it was. He had the chance to make a name for himself, it was the first time he would be officially introduced to people as prince consort, he had the right to drive people up the wall in his quest to make everything perfect. 

The tailor was the only person who was spared Harry's control: he did not dare anger the man because his outfit had to be perfect. He had a vision and he spent nearly an hour detailing it to the poor man who scribbled down notes, looking increasingly terrified as he realised, probably, that he would disappoint his prince. 

The evenings of Harry's exhausting days were spent with Louis. The habit they built while Harry was bedridden carried on. Harry could hardly imagine his life without it, now. He could not imagine going back to the loneliness he felt before he had the companionship of his husband. He often wondered how he survived before, how he did not tear his hair out and scream, half-mad from it. 

Of course, he _had_ tried to leave the castle on foot. He did go half-mad from it, as much as he tried to forget it had happened. The guilt of what he had put Louis through was a nightmare he wished he could erase from his memory. 

"How's the hall going?" asked Harry in lieu of a greeting as he joined Louis over dinner, a week before the ball was scheduled to happen. 

"According to plan," was all Louis replied, pouring them glasses of wine. 

"Yours or mine?" 

With a smirk, Louis lifted his eyebrows. "It's no fun if I tell you, is it?" 

Harry pouted, but he did not push. "I hear your outfit is ready." 

"And I hear yours is making seamstresses cry over embroideries." 

Harry stuck out his tongue and began eating. "I just like things to be how I imagined them. It's my birthday, after all." 

"Yes," said Louis after a sip of wine. "And I want everything to be how you imagined it, too. You just imagined _a lot_." 

"My mind is a fertile soil. Ideas come to me naturally." He paused. "Thank you, for all you're doing. I do realise that it's a lot." 

"It's my pleasure," replied Louis, patting his hand a few times before moving his away, as though worried he would be scolded for touching Harry. "A fertile soil, huh?" 

Harry laughed. "I can't be poetic if I feel like it?" 

"You can be whatever you want, _mein Schwanenprinz_." 

Washing down his bite of food with wine, Harry turned to Louis. "Why do you call me that? Swan prince?" 

"Don't you have an idea?" 

Harry frowned and shook his head. "Well, I know we live in the New Swan Castle. Is that why?" 

"In a way. Do you know Wagner?" 

"Not personally," replied Harry with a laugh. "But I'm not uneducated either." 

Ignoring Harry's comment, Louis continued. "Well, I love his work. _Love_ it. And he has an opera called _Lohengrin_ that I especially love." 

"I'm not a big fan of his, personally. I find him very loud. I prefer Liszt." Harry shrugged. "What about _Lohengrin_?" 

"Well, in it, there's a beautiful prince that comes in a swan boat, they call him the swan knight. It inspired me for the name of the castle and you'll find scenes from it painted in some rooms, if you look closely." Louis smiled. "And well, you're as elegant and delicate as a swan, _Liebling_ , with your long, white neck." 

"I hope I look better than a swan when I walk on land, though," replied Harry with a laugh. He grabbed a piece of bread to dip it in the sauce left at the bottom of his plate. "Maybe we can go see _Lohengrin_ , though, if it's in Munich some day. Or elsewhere. You have family in Vienna, right?" 

Louis lifted an eyebrow. "That's an understatement, but yes. Vienna is lovely." 

Cocking his head to the side, Harry frowned as he searched his memory. "Remind me of the lineage, exactly? I'm not too good at Bavarian history." 

"Well, Empress Elisabeth is my cousin," answered Louis, making an obvious attempt to keep his voice light, but it sounded to Harry like he was being condescending. 

His annoyance at the tone only lasted for a second, the time it took for Louis' words to sink in. "Sisi is your cousin?! I _love_ her!" 

"Have you met her?" 

"No, but… I heard a lot about her! And she's so beautiful!" An idea crossed Harry's mind, making him gasp. "Could we visit them? At the Hofburg?!" 

"Someday, yes. If you want." Louis took a sip of wine, glancing at Harry. "I don't… want to sound mean, but as _Prinzgemahl_ , you should know more about the Bavarian court and the House of Wittelsbach. You're one of us, now." 

"I've never been good at history. I barely know the history of Prussia, so don't think I have anything against Bavaria. My tutors hated me. I had better things to do than learning about boring history. I didn't know I was going to marry a king someday, you know, especially not a Bavarian one," said Harry, his tone teasing. "I did daydream about an Austrian emperor from time to time, I'll admit, but never a Bavarian king." 

"Better things like what?" 

Harry laughed, amused that Louis pointedly ignored the last part of what he had said. "Like music. I play the piano quite well." 

"Hence your love for Liszt." 

"Hence my love for Liszt," repeated Harry, nodding. "But there's no piano here, I was disappointed when I saw that." 

"I don't play," was all Louis said to explain. 

"Well, your husband does." 

"Duly noted." 

With a smile, Harry pushed his chair away from the table. "Well, I better get back to my preparations. Good evening, Louis." 

"Good evening, _mein Schwanenprinz_ ," replied Louis with a wink and a smile. 

On instinct, without even thinking about it, Harry began walking like a duck, flapping his arms as though they were wings and imitating the quacking noises of swans, delighted when he heard Louis' laughter accompanying him out of the room. 

\- 

Despite feeling, in his excitement and anticipation, that it never would, the day of the ball arrived and Harry was awake before dawn. Try as he might, he did not manage to go back to sleep and he gave up once he heard the now familiar noises of the castle coming back to life. Besides, he still had many things that needed to be done before he could relax and enjoy his birthday. 

  
The day went by in the blink of an eye and before he knew it, Harry found himself putting the finishing touches on his outfit and fixing his hair in the mirror as he waited until it was time to go downstairs. He ran a hand down his sleeve, smiling at the delicately intricate golden embroidery running up its length and down the front and back of the ivory jacket. 

  
A knock at the door made him smile. "Come in." 

Instead of Louis, like he expected, a footman entered, carrying a wooden box. " _Seiner Hoheit_ asked that we bring you this to wear for the ball, _mein Prinz_." 

With a smile, Harry noticed the change in behaviour towards him, but he kept it silent. It was better not to ruin a thing still so new. 

"What is it?" he asked as he walked towards the box, waiting for the footman to place it on a table before he opened it. 

Harry let out a gasp when he saw what was inside. "Is that…" he asked, too stunned to find the words. 

"The Queen's crown, yes. Well… no. I was told to say the King's consort's crown." 

With shaking hands, Harry retrieved the heavy crown from the box. It was made of gold and inlaid with more pearls than Harry could count. He noticed the gemstones that it carried, too, but they barely registered in his mind next to the shimmering pearls. The mix of gold and white of the crown would compliment the similar colour-scheme of his outfit and Harry wondered how much Louis had contributed to this coincidence. If he had known from the beginning that he would let Harry wear the crown jewels for his birthday, he might have steered him in the right direction in terms of colour selection. It made his heart go wild, to think of how much attention Louis had put into the details of the celebration. 

"Thank you," said Harry, dismissing the footman. 

He waited until he was alone once again before he walked up to the mirror and perched the heavy crown on his head. It glimmered in the fading sunlight pouring in through the window and Harry straightening his back and squared his shoulders as he looked at his reflection, a blush creeping up on his cheeks to see how regal he looked. Even in his wildest daydreams growing up, he never imagined he would ever get to see himself looking this way. 

He glanced at the time on his pocket watch and put the final touches to his hair, making sure his curls laid correctly around the crown, before he made his way downstairs. He had to walk slowly so the crown stayed in place and he knew before he reached the landing that he would not be wearing it all night, not if he hoped to dance, too. 

The two footmen flanking the door to the Singers' Hall nodded when they saw him and they grabbed the handles, waiting until Harry was in place before swinging them open. 

" _Seiner Hoheit der Prinzgemahl Harry von Wittelsbach_ [12]," was announced as Harry stepped into the room. 

As he did, the crowd bowed down in one smooth motion, making Harry gasp in surprise. No one had ever bowed to him, let alone an entire crowd of people. He stood in front of them, frozen, until Louis stood from his throne and crossed the room, motioning people to rise as he did. He walked slowly, relying on his cane, and Harry caught a few people glancing at him, which made him sad for Louis. He understood a bit more, in that moment, why he lived like a hermit. 

Louis wore his fiery red military uniform with insignia of orders and medals pinned to it, along with a crown of his own on his head. The sight of him made Harry forget about the cane, about the disappointment he had felt when he first saw him; it erased it all and left him with a brand new impression of his husband. For the first time, he truly looked like a king. 

"Look at you, _Liebling!_ " said Louis, walking up to Harry and putting his hand on his arm. "A proper prince." 

Harry let out a small laugh and bowed his head. He felt the crown begin to slip forward and let out a gasp of fear. Before he could react, Louis caught it and placed it back on his head gently. 

"Careful with that, it was a present from Napoleon." 

"I don't know him, is that a cousin of yours?" asked Harry, smirking as he waited to see how Louis would react. 

As he had hoped, Louis looked horror-stricken. "You don't know… Napoleon Bonaparte?" 

With a giggle, Harry rolled his eyes. "Of course I do, I'm not half as stupid as I look. I was teasing you," he replied, giving Louis a wink. 

"Oh…" Louis looked flustered, taken aback. "That's… reassuring." He cleared his throat. "Do you want to see what we did to the room?" he continued, offering Harry his arm. 

Taking it, Harry let Louis walk him around the hall, decorated beyond recognition. The walls had been hung with mirrors, hiding the scenes painted on the wall and, to Harry's opinion, making it look a thousand times better. Flames from the chandeliers were reflected in them, endlessly, creating a constellation of flickering lights as though they had filled the room with stars. 

"It's like… _la galerie des glaces_ ," whispered Harry, in awe. 

"Look up," replied Louis. 

Keeping a hand on the crown to stop it from falling, Harry craned his neck to look up. The dark wood ceiling had been hung with drapes painted to look like Versailles, so detailed that Harry could not begin to imagine how long it must have taken to do it. 

"That's… you had this all made for me?" he asked, turning to face Louis. 

Louis smiled, nodding. "You said you wanted your birthday ball to have a Versailles theme. When I visited it, _la galerie des glaces_ is what struck me the most, so I thought you would like it here." 

Harry nodded, smiling wide enough that it hurt. "Thank you. It's perfect. It's better than anything I could have imagined." 

"And the celebrations are only just getting started. Are you hungry? We were waiting for you for the banquet." 

"Oh, was I late?" 

"A prince is never late. Everyone else was early," replied Louis, returning Harry's wink from earlier. He motioned for a footman, who exited the room quickly. "The banquet will be announced shortly." 

"I can't wait. I chose the menu so carefully." 

"I know you did, _Schatz_. I read it last week and I've been hungry for it ever since. I might have added a few surprises to it, though." 

Harry's eyes widened. "What did you do?"  


"It's not a surprise if I tell you, is it? Now go, leave your old husband alone and go greet your guests." 

Harry smiled at Louis one last time before he left his side, weaving into the crowd to mingle with the people present, a mix of his friends and prominent people of the Bavarian court. As he conversed and laughed with them, he felt a bit of his old self come back. He had missed society and did not realise how much he craved the attention of a crowd enraptured with a tale he was telling until he had it once more. It was with disappointment that he rejoined with Louis when it was time to move to the dining hall for the banquet, but it was short-lived: Louis had more than added a few surprises, as he had said. He had more than doubled the menu, every course more lavish than the previous one. The real surprise came with dessert as towering mountains of macarons were brought to the table and Louis whispered to Harry that he had them shipped from Ladurée in Paris, 'to add a French flair to the banquet'. 

After the banquet, Harry and Louis led the way back to the ballroom where Louis motioned for Harry to wait as he slowly climbed up the two stairs leading to his throne. He stood in front of the crowd and hit his cane on the floor to get everyone's attention. Once the crowd was silent, he cleared his throat. 

"If I may have everyone's attention for a moment, please. Thank you. As we all know, we're gathered here to celebrate the birthday of my darling husband, Harry. I'm a man of few words, so I will keep this brief. Harry, it has been a pleasure to be married to you and I hope to share many more years by your side. You're blooming before my eyes and I can't wait to see what you will become. You've filled me and this draughty castle with delight and I hope that this present I'm offering to you will help you spread your _joie de vivre_ even more." 

At his words, the door to the hall were thrown open and footmen entered, straining under the weight of the grand piano they were carrying. It was ivory white with golden carvings decorating it. Harry felt his heart stop at the sight and he turned to Louis in disbelief. 

"Is this for me?!" 

"A little bird told me you're quite the accomplished pianist. I thought it was a disgrace that you had no instrument on which to play here." 

In shock, Harry made his way to Louis on shaking legs. Taking Louis' hand in both of his, he placed a kiss on the back of it. "Thank you. I have no words, this is… _thank you_." 

Louis smiled, his eyes crinkling. "And to think I did not get such a good reaction when I gave you jewels for Christmas! If I'd known." He laughed. "Ready for one more surprise?" 

"I don't know," replied Harry through a laugh. "My heart might not stand it." 

"You'll want to be alive for this. I remember you mentioning you liked a certain _Herr_ Liszt?" 

Harry felt the blood drain from his head. "No… you didn't…" He spun on his heels and saw his favourite composer now standing by the piano, waving at him with an amused look on his face. "Oh, I think I might faint!" Harry said through a gasp, his heart hammering in his ears. 

"I didn't think it was fair that I got to meet my hero and you didn't. Go, this ball needs music," said Louis, gently pushing Harry forward. 

As though in a dream, Harry made his way to the piano and greeted Franz Liszt, in complete disbelief that it was happening. When the man offered that they play a piece together, Harry hurriedly nodded and pulled the bench to sit on it, making it scrape loudly against the floor. He laughed nervously. 

"I, huh," began Harry, clearing his throat. "My favourite of yours is, huh, _La Campanella_ , but I'm… I'm not able to play it, yet. But I'm good at _Liebestraum_." 

"I can teach you to play _La Campanella_ , if you wish, _Seiner Hoheit_." 

Harry let out a nervous giggle that almost sounded like a shriek and then he agreed, nodding emphatically. 

" _Hungarian Dance No. 2_ is easier as a duet, do you know it, _Seiner Hoheit_?" 

Again, Harry nodded. "And please, call me Harry. I'll set the tempo. You… do you." 

When he revisited memories of that night, months and years later, Harry would wonder how he managed to play alongside his hero, how it came to be that his nerves melted away as he began playing to let him enjoy the moment. He felt as though he was in a sort of trance, entirely focused on the music. The castle could have caught fire that he would not have noticed. His fingers flew over the keys, deft despite the months without practice, and if he made mistakes, he did not notice. 

The room erupted with applauds when they were finished and Harry got up, holding on to his crown as he bowed and thanked them profusely. He returned to Louis' side and watched as the piano was moved to the side of the room, near the rest of the chamber orchestra that had filed in while Harry was busy playing. 

With everyone settled, Louis extended his hand. "Will you do me the honour of the first dance?" 

"Will you be able to? With your leg?" 

"If I can't dance with my husband on his birthday, there's no point being alive anymore." Louis handed his cane to a footman and took Harry's arm. "Come. Your husband was quite the dancer in the past. Let's see if I remember the steps." 

"I quite like you like this," said Harry as the crowd parted to let them get to the centre of the room. 

"And how is that?" 

"Assertive with a hint of vindication." 

"That's extremely precise. I'll try to remember it." 

They took their positions and Harry held his breath until the music started and Louis began leading the waltz, confident from the first step. Harry let out a small breath as they moved around, making Louis cock his head in curiosity. 

"Are you laughing at me?" 

"No, no, I'm laughing because I wonder how much you paid Liszt to get him to play a Strauss waltz while he has waltzes of his own." 

"Oh please, they're barely danceable. Strauss is a good, reliable waltz composer. It doesn't sound like he's having a seizure halfway through the piece." 

Harry laughed even more, loud enough to draw attention to him. "Well, at least Liszt doesn't sound like he's trying to wake the dead like a certain Wagner." 

"You're comparing apples and oranges, right now, don't even try, _kleiner Prinz_." 

"I'm taller than you, _kleiner König_." 

It was Louis' turn to burst out laughing. Their eyes met when he calmed down and a wave of realisation hit Harry, nearly making him stagger on his feet: he was falling in love with Louis. It sounded superficial even to him that he understood it while in the middle of a lavish ball thrown in his honour, but there it was, the naked truth: he was falling in love with the funny, hopelessly devoted man he was convinced he would loathe all of his life. 

Harry felt his cheeks warm up under the onslaught of emotions and he looked down, fighting a smile. 

"I've shrunk," replied Louis, unaware of the turmoil Harry was living through. "Because of my war wounds. You're mocking a veteran, you know." 

"Weren't you at war against my kingdom?" asked Harry, barely keeping up with the conversation as thoughts swirled around his mind. 

"I'll let you figure that one out on your own." 

  
Harry smiled. "I can't be pretty, musically gifted and smart all at once. I had to make a choice." 

"I can be smart for the two of us if you'll be the pretty one." 

"You're not ugly," replied Harry, frowning. "Really not ugly." 

"Is that a compliment, _Schatz_?" 

"Well, it wasn't an insult." 

Louis winked, making Harry's already palpitating heart beat faster. The waltz ended soon after, to his relief. 

"That's quite enough dancing for me," said Louis, motioning for his cane to be brought to him. "You have fun with your friends, now. I'll retire to my room, let you enjoy your night." 

"No!" exclaimed Harry, louder than he had hoped for. "What if I want another dance with you later?" 

"There's no need to flatter me, _Liebling_. You've been good already, but now you're free." 

Harry opened his mouth to talk, but he found he had nothing to say that would keep Louis at the ball. With a sigh, he watched him leave the room, feeling as though he had failed him, somehow. He would have to try harder, to be better, now that he—well, now that he was almost in love. 

\- 

Hours later, Harry stumbled up the stairs, leaning heavily on the walls to stay upright. The first rays of sunlight were pouring in from the windows as he headed down the hallway towards his room, humming a waltz to himself. His feet ached and he could feel his tiredness like a weight pulling him down, but his head was in the clouds and his heart, _oh_ , his heart soared even higher. 

Once at his door, he paused. Perhaps it was the champagne he had drunk all night pushing him on, but he kept going and staggered his way to Louis' room. He was not quite ready to go to bed, yet. He hoped, maybe, that Louis would want to hear about the ball. He walked in uninvited, realising too late that perhaps he should have knocked.. 

He tried to make his way to the bed delicately, figuring he would lay down next to Louis and gently wake him up, but he stubbed his foot on the leg of a heavy wooden table, cursing out in pain. The noises he made were followed by rustling coming from the bed and, seconds later, a match being cracked to fight the lingering darkness of the night. 

"Harry?" asked Louis in a sleep-roughened voice. 

"Sorry, did I wake you up?" Harry was aware of how much he had had to drink, but he had not noticed how slurred his words were until he heard himself speak around someone sober. He stifled a giggle. 

There was a pause. "Yes." 

"Oh, well, if you're awake," replied Harry, walking the rest of the way to the bed and climbing on it. He dropped down on top of the covers, kicked off his shoes, and let out a contented sigh. 

"Thank you for tonight." 

Louis yawned. "Did you just come up from the ball? Did you have fun?" 

"So much fun! I danced so much that my feet hurt!" Harry let out a giggle and stretched. "You missed all the fun." 

"You wouldn't have had it if I had been there, _Schatz_." 

"I disagree. I liked when you were there." Harry reached over and gave the tip of Louis' nose a tap with his index finger. "We could have danced more." 

"And risk making your poor feet bleed? Not a chance." 

Harry laughed. "I'd risk it to dance with you. With my husband." 

It was Louis' turn to laugh. "You are so drunk, you're talking nonsense." 

"No, I mean it! I liked our dance." 

With another yawn, Louis turned on his side to look at Harry, pillowing his head with his arm. "Where's your crown?" 

"Oh, don't worry," replied Harry, waving his hand in the air. He looked at it as he did and regretted the decision when it dizzied him. "It was heavy and I gave it to a footman so he would take it away to safety. It was before we went outside so I could show people where I almost died." 

Louis looked horrified, but he said nothing about it. "As long as the crown is safe and you're safe." 

"Of course I'm safe! I'm in my husband's bed." Harry giggled. "Oh, that makes me think, should I let you sleep?" 

"No, no," replied Louis. "Tell me all about your night. Don't leave out any detail." 

Harry settled more comfortably in bed and began telling Louis about everything he had missed by leaving early, continuing to talk until he realised Louis had fallen back to sleep. He considered going back to his own room for a moment, but laziness took over and he slipped under the covers, figuring he was allowed to share his husband's bed if he felt like it. 

Besides, with the emotions he had felt growing inside of him earlier that night, it probably would not be the last time he slept in Louis' bed. He hoped so, at least. It would be quite nice, he thought as he drifted off to sleep, to be in love with his husband. It would make life easier. 

\- 

Something shifted between them after that night. Harry knew, though it was hard to admit, that it originated with him. He had changed his attitude towards Louis and thus Louis reacted in kind. He had always covered Harry in small attentions and compliments, but perhaps Harry had never taken them to heart until then. He had been able to hear them and continue on with his day, but now all it took was a small 'you look gorgeous today, _Liebling_ ' for his knees to weaken and his heart to flutter for hours at the memory. 

It had begun before the ball, he concluded one afternoon while he was mindlessly playing the piano. It was not something that came upon him at once if he took the time to think about it. The story of Louis' dead lover had ignited the fire. To know that his husband, the quiet and distant man he had thought had always been this way, had known love before changed everything. He was no longer aloof; he was hurt. He had not married Harry out of spite; he was looking for the companionship he had lost. Louis was not boring; he had known tragedy and was trying his best to keep going. Louis was like the brooding heroes of the novels he loved to read. 

In other words, Harry discovered that he could daydream about his husband's inner life and it really worked wonders on making him _want_ him. 

As for Louis, though Harry's reactions to his compliments made him give him more of them, he did not seem to notice that Harry's attitude had shifted. It was not for a lack of trying: as the weeks went by and Louis remained politely friendly, Harry experienced with a few attempts. 

His first tentative was to only play romantic songs on the piano when he knew Louis was near. Louis complimented him whenever he walked by the room, but Harry understood that his message was not getting across when Louis told him he was becoming quite good at _Liebestraum_ and that his efforts practicing it were giving good results. 

The next thing that Harry tried was to spend more time with Louis. One morning, without warning, he followed Louis after breakfast to his office and settled on an armchair with a thick volume about the history of Bavaria. 

"What are you doing?" asked Louis, cocking his head to the side in curious amusement. 

"Educating myself about my kingdom," replied Harry, lifting up the book so Louis could read the title. "So I can be a good prince consort." 

His reply stunned Louis into silence and he went back to his papers, ignoring Harry's presence for the rest of the day. 

Harry quickly gave up on the book. It was boring beyond words and full of complicated genealogy that he did not need to know about to understand current day politics. Instead, after a week of efforts to get through a single chapter, he migrated to the desk, pulling up a chair to sit opposite Louis. 

"Can I help you with something?" he asked when Louis looked up from a letter he was reading. 

"Huh, what?" 

"Do you need help? What is it that you're doing?" 

Louis was silent for a moment, his brows furrowed. "I, huh… I'm reading a letter from the chairman of the council of ministers." 

"Oh, and who is he? What does he do for us?" 

"He's the head of the government. Because you know we're not… I'm not the head of the state, you knew that, yes?" 

Harry smiled and nodded. "Yes. It was explained to me on my way here for the wedding. So what is he writing to you about?" 

"Just, state business. Boring stuff." 

"Read it out loud," asked Harry, settling more comfortably in his chair. When Louis did not begin reading, he let out a small laugh. "If you don't want my company…" 

"No! No, no, sorry, yes," replied Louis, flustered to the point of blushing. He cleared his throat before he began reading, glancing up at Harry from time to time as though to check he was still paying attention. When he was finished reading, he put down the letter. "So, do you have questions?" 

Harry had too many to begin counting them, but he shook his head, trying his best to look smarter than he was; smart enough that Louis might consider him as more than just the pretty boy he married to fill his empty castle. "It sounds very boring to be king." 

"It's…" Louis paused and his expression changed, turning into surprise. "It actually is, yes." He laughed. "I never stopped to think about it." 

"You spend your days locked in your office reading boring letters and writing boring letters and then you go to bed and start over." 

"I…" Louis trailed off and shrugged. "You're not wrong." 

"We'll go out for walks when the weather gets better," offered Harry, smiling encouragingly. "I know your leg… but we'll sit down a lot so you can rest." 

Louis looked hesitant, but he nodded. "As you wish, _Schatz_." 

"It'll be fun! As soon as the roads are dry enough to be safe for you, we'll go. I really want to explore the grounds, maybe we could go on picnics on really beautiful days! But, in the meantime, can I help you with something?" 

"Help me… with what?" 

"With your work. I have a very good handwriting, maybe you could tell me what you want to say and I'll write the letters? Your hand must hurt writing so much, all the time." 

"I'm used to it," replied Louis. He pulled the ink pot closer to him as he replied. Whether it was unconscious or not, it made Harry sigh. 

"I can leave, too, if you prefer to be left alone. I just thought… you could use some company. Isn't that why you married me?" 

"I didn't…" Louis pressed his lips together. "I didn't marry you to have an… assistant." 

"No, you married me to have a _consort_." 

Louis hesitated for another moment before he nodded. "If you don't mind doing boring things with me…" 

"Not at all. I wouldn't offer if I did. As a rule, I try to never do things I don't want to do," replied Harry, keeping his tone light to show that he was teasing lest Louis think he was an unredeemable brat. He pulled the ink and a pen closer to him and waited. "I'm ready when you are." 

It quickly became their routine and Harry wondered how he had filled his days before he helped Louis manage state affairs. He looked back on his endless hours of idleness with confusions, amazed that he did not get bored out of his mind, forgetting that he did, on most days, that he paced and sighed as hours went by as though they lasted a lifetime each. His days spent by Louis' side, in comparison, flew by and a couple of months came and went in the blink of an eye. 

Spring settled in before Harry really noticed until one morning, he opened his window after waking up and was met with a warm, pleasant breeze and the sound of it rustling lazily through the forest around the castle. It was a perfect day for their first walk, Harry decided. 

He bounded down the stairs for breakfast, grinning from ear to ear, and walked up to press a kiss to Louis' forehead before he sat down. 

"Good morning, _Gemahl_ ," said Harry cheerfully. "We're going for a walk, today." 

"I… huh… are we?" stammered Louis, his eyes widening. "Why today?" 

"Because I felt a warm breeze coming from the window this morning and it inspired me. It doesn't have to be long, but it would do us good! Come on, say yes!" pleaded Harry, batting his eyelashes to try and wheedle the answer he wanted to hear out of Louis. 

"We… huh… we could go to Marienbrücke." 

Harry smiled. "What is that? Is it near?" 

"It's a bridge not too far… it crosses over a gorge, it's… it's a good view of the castle, too." 

"All right! We'll go there! I'll go down to the kitchens after breakfast to ask for snacks to bring along the way, when do you want to go? Right after breakfast or perhaps in the afternoon?" asked Harry, the words pouring out of him like a waterfall in his enthusiasm. 

"Whatever you think is best. I follow your lead." 

Harry settled for the afternoon, but he wondered whether he had made a mistake when they left the castle under a grey sky. The going was slow, Louis requiring they stop every few steps so he could, as he explained, make it all the way to the bridge. Harry was in no hurry, though. Louis seemed more relaxed the further they got from the castle and he began telling Harry about the forest surrounding them. He talked about the different trees and the animals, identifying birds by their call whenever they heard one sing. Harry was drinking in his words, grateful that he had pushed for the walk, feeling like they were finally synchronised. 

Progressively, the road became steeper and Harry could tell Louis was beginning to struggle. Harry placed a hand on the small of his back and stopped walking, turning to face him. 

"Should we turn back?" 

Louis shook his head and sighed. "No, no. I'm fine. I'll stop if I'm not." 

"Are you sure?" 

"Yes," replied Louis, curt. "We keep going." 

With worry clouding his mind, Harry obeyed, casting glances at Louis from time to time to make sure he was doing okay. He had stopped talking and his breathing was laboured, but the look of determination on his face told Harry he should not offer they stop again. Louis wanted to get to the end of the walk. 

The bridge appeared around a bend and Harry could not stop a grin from blooming on his face. He ached to run to it, to see it as soon as he could, but he controlled his enthusiasm and waited for Louis to make his slow, tedious way to it. 

"Here we are," said Louis through a pant as they stopped at the beginning of the bridge. "You can run up to the middle, I know you're dying to. I'll catch up to you." 

Harry did not need to be told twice. He ran until he reached the middle and then turned to face Louis. "I want to see the view with you," he called towards Louis. 

Despite the distance, Harry saw Louis smile at his words. To add to the dramatic effect of the moment, he covered his eyes with his hands and waited. He jumped when Louis touched his arm. 

"I'm there." 

"Three…" began Harry, turning towards the castle. Two… one!" 

He took his hands away and opened his eyes, letting out a gasp at the view. He knew his eyes must be comically wide as he stared and he gripped the bannister of the bridge, leaning forward as much as he dared as though it would get him closer. The castle looked surreal in the distance, perched on top a hill, a flash of stark white stone in an ocean of green. 

"I get it," said Harry, breathing out reverently. "I understand why you love it so much, here." 

Louis placed a hand on his back and leaned on the bannister next to Harry. "It's like something out of a fairytale, isn't it?" 

Harry looked at Louis and their eyes met. Something passed between them, like lightning, and Harry felt a blush rise on his cheeks as he looked away. 

"It's like we're… outside of time. In a fairytale, yes. When I got here, it felt like a gilded cage, a prison, but now… I understand. We're on the same page." 

  
He chanced another glance at Louis and caught the way he was looking at him, the weight of it brimming with what looked a lot like love. Harry's breath caught in his throat and he held Louis' gaze, leaning forward ever so slightly. He turned to press his side against the bannister, Louis' arm now wrapped around his waist, and placed his hand on Louis' bicep, shifting closer. Louis mirrored him, turning, too. 

"The castle is that way," joked Louis, nodding his head to the side. He was breathing harder, but this time it wasn't from strain. 

"It's not what I want to look at right now," replied Harry. "I…" he began before trailing off and shaking his head. Words were insufficient. Instead, he stepped forward to close the distance between them, pressing his lips to Louis'. 

Louis let out a gasp of surprise, but he did not move back. His arm tightened around Harry's waist, pulling him in closer, and he kissed him back. Harry wrapped his arms around Louis' neck, holding him to make sure he would not get away. His heart hammered in his chest, feeling like it was about to burst out of it, and emotions like he had never known before swirled inside of Harry's mind. It had to be love, he was sure of it, now. 

Louis pulled out of the kiss with a soft gasp. He pressed their foreheads together, close enough that Harry could feel the flutter of his eyelashes against his own. He pulled back after a moment, stroking Harry's cheek tenderly. 

"Harry…" 

"I meant it," replied Harry before Louis could speak his mind. "I meant it. I… since the ball, I've… felt a different way about you. A good, different way." 

"I noticed you were making efforts. Or not… that sounds rude. But I felt that we were becoming closer. My affection for you has grown so much in the past months, now that we're spending time together." 

"I sought you out, yes. I've been trying to show you for a while now that I want to get close to you." Harry let out a small laugh. "Do you think I like _Liebestraum_ so much?" 

Louis was silent for a second before he laughed, self-conscious. "Oh! I did wonder why it was all I ever heard you play." 

"I was trying to be romantic. You also made it quite difficult to help you with your work, you tried so hard to make me understand that I really did not have to help you if I did not want to, hm?" 

"I never wanted you to feel like you had to do anything to please me." 

"I was trying to get closer to you, to spend time with you, and not just because I was lonely, although I was. And I know you were, too." 

"There's a reason I wanted a husband." 

"I'll be your husband, now. Not just on paper. It's a promise," said Harry, hoping the love budding inside of him could be heard in his voice. 

Louis looked at him in silence for a long time, as though in disbelief that Harry was real. "The way I feel about you, I thought… I never would again." 

"After…"  


"Yes," interrupted Louis. "But the past months showed me I was wrong." 

They were saying it without using the words and Harry felt both excited and annoyed by it. He ached to say it, but perhaps Louis was scared. The last thing he wanted was to rush into it and scare him. Instead of replying, he pressed another kiss to Louis' lips, stroking the back of his neck as he did. 

Through their declarations, they did not notice the sky darkening as heavy clouds gathered over the valley below them. What brought it to their attention was the wind picking up, loud and strong enough to pull Harry out of the kiss. He looked around and frowned. 

"It's about to rain, I think," he commented. 

Louis blinked a few times, coming back to reality and looking up. His brows furrowed with worry. "A storm is gathering, yes. We better head back right away." 

Harry took Louis' arm. "Lean your weight on me, if we have to go quick." 

"We don't have to run, but let's not delay," said Louis, taking Harry's offered arm nonetheless. 

As they walked down the path back to the castle, Harry could feel Louis' pain. He was a step behind Harry despite their entwined arms and he let out a pained groan with every step that he took, his cane nearly useless at the pace they were going. Rain began slowly, but it was not long before it intensified, soaking them well before the castle was in sight. 

They stumbled into the castle, trailing mud and water, and Harry led Louis to the nearest bench, extremely worried about his state. He kneeled in front of him, taking his hands in his. 

"Louis? _Liebling_? Talk to me," he asked, frantic. 

"I'm fine, I'm fine," said Louis, though his eyes were closed and his breath was deafening. "I'm just not going up to my room for a while." 

"I can have you carried up to it, if you wish." 

"No!" snapped Louis, shaking his head. He softened his voice. "No. I'm not… I'm not being _carried_ anywhere." 

Harry frowned. "So you'll just… stay in the draughty hall for hours until you can hurt yourself more by going up several floors on your own? There's no shame in asking for help." He paused. "We can lie and say you hurt yourself on our walk, so they won't know the truth." 

Louis squared his jaw and looked away, and it was obvious from the tension in his body that he was fighting against his pride. They were both shivering, their wet clothes clinging to their bodies. 

"I'll stay down with you if you wish to wait here," continued Harry. 

From the look on Louis' face, he saw that he noticed that Harry's teeth chattered as he spoke. Harry hoped it might persuade him to be reasonable. 

"We'll say I did not see a hole in the road and I turned my ankle," replied Louis, reluctant and wounded in his pride. 

"I'll be right back." 

Harry hurried to find the first footman he could and he gave them instructions to help the king up to his room and have a warm meal brought up there for the two of them. When it was done, Harry went straight upstairs, figuring Louis would not appreciate if Harry saw what was about to happen. He was beginning to know the man well enough that he knew he would not want his husband to see him being weak. 

After he had changed into dry, warmer clothes, Harry headed to Louis' room and gently knocked at the door. 

"Come in," Louis replied and he smiled when he saw Harry. "Since when do you knock?" 

Harry let out a giggle, shrugging. "I thought I'd give manners a try. Did they get you in dry clothes?" 

"Yes, I'm better, now," he said, stretching his legs with a grimace to get them closer to the fire. "Food is on its way." 

Harry joined him in his usual armchair by the fire, but he stopped and pressed a soft kiss to Louis' lips before he sat down. "We're not going on walks this far again. I've learned my lesson. You won't say no to me and then you hurt yourself." 

"It's not your fault," replied Louis, shaking his head. "I truly wanted to go. I wanted to feel like a normal husband to you, if only for an afternoon." 

"I like you the way you are." 

"Hm, well I would like _me_ better with good legs." 

Harry said nothing in reply, unsure that any word would soothe Louis. Outside, rain was falling down hard, the wind rattling the windows in their frame. Harry shivered, partly from fear, and he moved his chair closer to the fireplace. 

Their food arrived and Harry helped Louis get settled with his bowl of stew before he sat down to eat his own. They began discussing, easily falling into their usual rhythm, though Harry could feel something had shifted for the best. What he also could feel was that Louis was still in a lot of pain, despite his best efforts to hide it. Harry kept it quiet until they were done eating and their plates had been taken away. 

"Is there anything I can do to help your leg?" he asked. 

"Not really… there's… I wouldn't ask you that." 

"Tell me." 

Louis let out a sigh. "Massages help." 

"I can do that," replied Harry, lightly, trying to help lift Louis' worries. 

"You would have to… to look at the state of my leg. It's not nice to look at." 

"I want to help you. Don't worry about me," insisted Harry. 

Louis was silent for a moment, his internal debate obvious on his face, before he nodded, resigned. "It does really hurt a lot…" 

"What do I do, then?" asked Harry, standing up to come kneel down in front of Louis. "Should I help you take off your trousers?" 

Biting his lips, Louis nodded and watched as Harry undid the buttons and gently pulled them down. "It's not your first time…" he commented. 

"I told you I'm not a virgin," replied Harry with a wink, though he could feel the heat radiating from his face as he pulled the trousers down. 

Bracing himself for what Louis talked about as horrifying, Harry looked at his bad leg. His right thigh was mostly scar tissue, uneven and pockmarked, a mix of red and white flesh. It was not _pretty_ , not by far, but it was nothing like what Harry had anticipated. 

"It's not as bad as you imagine it to be, to others," said Harry, looking up to find that Louis was staring at the ceiling to cope with the moment. "What should I do?" 

"Massage the thigh, that's where it hurts the most." 

Harry nodded though Louis could not see him and he rubbed his hands together to warm them up before he began massaging Louis' leg. At first, he barely dared to apply pressure, but he grew bolder as he went on. Louis groaned in pain, but he urged Harry to continue. The flesh and scar tissue felt tough under Harry's hands and it made them ache, requiring more efforts than he was used to when he gave massages to his previous lovers. 

  
The word made him smile to himself. _Lovers_. He and his husband were lovers, now. He was in love with his husband and he was almost certain that his husband was in love with him, too. 

"All right, all right, enough," Louis eventually said, gently pushing Harry away. "It went from good pain to bad pain." 

"Oh, sorry!" Harry let go of his leg and helped Louis pull his trousers back up before he went back to his armchair. "Did it help?" 

"A lot, thank you _Schatz_." 

"Anytime. I meant it when I said that your leg isn't the horror you describe. I'll massage you anytime you need it." 

Louis nodded, turning his gaze to the fire. "It's really bad outside, isn't it?" 

Harry got up and walked to a window to check. "It's a big storm. I don't think I've ever seen one quite so bad." Harry's voice shook as a loud crash of thunder startled him. 

"If you're scared, you can sleep here." 

"I'm not scared," replied Harry, rolling his eyes as he headed back to his seat. "Not anymore." 

"I'm offering, that's all." 

"Well, I'm not. It's just a thunderstorm." Harry pushed his chin up in bravado to emphasise how serious he was. 

His bravado melted away as nighttime descended and the storm did not relent. Louis was reading out loud letters he had received from his seat by the fire, but Harry had to begin pacing the room as his fear grew. It was the wind against the windows that did it for him. It sounded like someone, or something, was trying to get in. Harry had found the section of the library where horror tales were kept and he made the mistake of reading many of them. Too many, he realised as he paced back and forth and jumped whenever a gust of wind rattled the windowpanes. 

" _Liebling_ , are you all right?" 

"Yes, yes, of course. Keep reading," he replied, waving his hand in the air impatiently. 

"I asked you a question four times." 

Harry stopped in his tracks and turned to Louis. "Oh, what was it?" 

"I asked if we should stop and go to bed. I'm quite tired from our adventure today. And I thought…" Louis paused to give Harry a shy smirk. "I thought perhaps you could join me in my bed. Not for the storm, but… maybe to continue what we began on the bridge?" 

It was obvious to the two of them that Louis had more than the reason he stated to offer that Harry share his bed, but Harry was not about to pass on the opportunity of not dying of fright alone in his bedroom. If it meant he also got to kiss his husband in the process, it was all the better. His pride was saved and his lust would be satisfied. 

"I'm staying, but not because of the storm. I'm not afraid of the storm." 

"Of course not, my love. I'd never suggest that you were." 

Harry pressed his lips together and gave a curt nod before grabbing a lamp and heading for his room to change. Even those few minutes alone were nearly too much to bear and he hurried back to Louis' room, entering without knocking. 

"No more manners?" asked Louis, amused. 

He had changed for the night while Harry was gone and was now slowly making his way to his bed. Harry went over to help him into bed before he toured the room to prepare it for the night, putting a new log in the fire as a final step before he joined Louis in bed. It was the second time only that he slept there, and the first time he was doing it sober, so he felt a shiver of excitation run through him as he slipped under the covers, shifting around until he was in between Louis and the wall. 

"I'm glad this time I won't have to worry about you throwing up," commented Louis. 

Harry clicked his tongue and smacked Louis' arm, laughing. "Don't be so rude. It was my birthday." 

"I'm just saying, you were drunk enough that you came to my bed instead of yours." 

"I chose to do that. I'd just… understood things, about how I feel about you, and I wanted your company." 

" _Oh_." Louis was silent and when Harry turned on his side to look at him, he was staring at the canopy above them. 

"Hm, yes. You really worked some kind of wizardry on me with that waltz." 

A violent gust of wind slammed against the windowpanes, making Harry nearly jump out of his skin and shift closer to Louis, wrapping his arms around him. If asked, he would say he felt affectionate and deny his fear. 

"You said something about continuing what we started on the bridge?" he asked before Louis could comment on his recent action. 

"I did. No more, though. I do desire you, but I'm in too much pain tonight. I'm sorry, _mein Liebe_ [13]." 

Harry shook his head, his entire body ignited by Louis' admission that he desired him. "Only kisses. The rest, we have our whole lives ahead of us for it." 

They settled into each other's arms, their lips meeting effortlessly, as though their bodies were moulded to fit together. They kissed through the storm, taking breaks to talk in hushed voices or for Louis to tease Harry because he was startled by the wind. Whenever he did, Harry would retaliate by tickling him until he begged for mercy and it would lead to more kisses, tangled in the sheets and lost in each other. Louis' hands were possessive on him, roaming and pulling at his nightshirt, and Harry nearly came back on their decision to stick to kissing when Louis rolled him on his back to kiss him deeper and Harry felt a jolt go through his entire body. He had to be good, though. Louis made him want to strive to be the best husband he could be, in hopes he might ever repay him for his kindness. 

Harry hoped, as he drifted off to sleep hours later, that this was the first night of the rest of his life. He did not require much, he had always had small expectations for his life, and they had been met. All that was left for him, now, was to live happily ever after. 

\--- 

The bright, October morning sunlight pouring into the room woke up Harry. He blinked and groaned, realising that they forgot to draw the curtains to the bed alcove when they crawled into it not nearly enough hours earlier. The lemon yellow walls of the room seemed aflame in the light, their silver carvings shimmering, painful to Harry's eyes. Next to him, Louis was snoring lightly, his head pressed into his pillow, the thin cotton sheet barely covering his naked body. Harry pressed a kiss to his bare shoulder and got out of bed, drawing the curtains shut behind him to preserve Louis' sleep. 

He stretched and walked up to the open window, looking out at the grounds of Nymphenburg Park stretching before him, the grass still glimmering with dew. He ran his hand down the windowsill, sighing happily. 

There had been a ball the night before, a grandiose affair at the palace to celebrate their fifth anniversary, culminating in the unveiling of the biggest surprise Louis had given him yet: a park pavilion named after him, Harrienburg[14], a small lodge amongst the trees, just a handful of rooms decorated in lavish rococo style, perfectly catered to Harry's tastes. Louis had commissioned for the construction to begin the day after their first kiss and kept it a secret for five years. When he had asked Harry why he never suspected anything during their visits to Nymphenburg, Harry had to admit he assumed they were building stables. 

"Stables? For five years?" Louis had asked, throwing his head back and laughing loudly, encouraging the guests listening in on their conversation to do the same. 

"I assumed they were very sophisticated stables," Harry had mumbled in reply before running for the door and inviting Louis in, shooing their guests away so he could take his husband to bed. 

Harry smiled and walked up to where he had abandoned his clothes the night before, thrown haphazardly in his hurry to show just how grateful he was to Louis. He slipped on his shirt, glanced at his trousers and decided against it. For the first time in their marriage, they were entirely alone. No footman or maid would interrupt their time together by walking by. He could stay in nothing but a sheer shirt if he wanted to. He looked up at their portraits flanking the bed and let out a small sigh of happiness. 

It had taken two years before Harry convinced Louis to turn their newly instated yearly visits to Munich into more regular things. Neuschwanstein would forever remain their home, their own little nest of marital bliss, but Harry enjoyed spending time in Munich in the summer. Louis was coming out of his shell, too, and Harry was often complimented on how he had managed to draw the hermit king out of his isolation. He grew in confidence, socially, the more Harry dragged him to the opera or to social events, and it was a delight to watch his husband bloom into a happier man. 

Harry entered the kitchen and smiled to himself. It had been stocked with food as per the request he had drunkenly sent to the palace the night before and he began looking through the baskets with curiosity. 

The kitchen walls were covered in blue and white Delft tiles, the ceiling painted to match. In the middle of it was a stove, a few pots already placed on it. Harry lifted one, a heavy Dutch oven, and he frowned. He had actually never cooked, it occurred to him then. With a shrug, he searched around until he figured out how to put the fire on for the pots and he took out a large bowl to mix his ingredients. 

He knew what were in omelettes, surely he could manage to make one. All he needed were eggs, vegetables and cheese. It could not be that hard. He grabbed a few vegetables from the basket: an onion, a carrot, some sort of squash, and he began chopping them, clumsy and without finesse. He threw them in the bowl and then looked at the eggs, frowning. He did not know how many he should be using for two people. Four? Six? Harry began breaking two, then four, and he stopped at seven because it was becoming absurd. The next step was the cheese and he searched through the basket until he found a wheel of some unknown hard cheese. He smelled it and that did not help his guess, so he cut chunks that he threw in with the rest in the bowl. Grabbing a long wooden spoon, he gave it a stir before taking the bowl over to the Dutch oven he had left to warm up. 

He upended the bowl in the pot and immediately knew he made a mistake. The mixture sizzled and smoked and by the time he had hurried back to the counter for the wooden spoon, it had begun sticking to the bottom of the pot. Harry stirred the pot until the eggs turned into clumps and the cheese had melted, and then he spooned it all out in a bowl. It smelled like eggs, which was encouraging. 

The kitchen had sent a loaf of fresh bread and Harry worried that if he tried to toast it, he would ruin it, so he only cut slices out of it and slathered butter on them before laying them out on a plate. The final step was coffee, which he thankfully knew how to make. As it brewed, he cut up pieces of fruits and placed them in a bowl, and then he went searching around the kitchen for a platter to help him carry it all back to the bedroom. 

Once the platter was assembled, looking plain and unappetising due to the horror he had cooked up, Harry had the idea to go outside and pick a few of the flowers that had not died yet, and he arranged them in a glass. Satisfied, he brought the platter back to bed. 

Louis was awake when Harry arrived, standing by the window like Harry had done not long before. Unlike Harry, though, he had put all of his clothes back on. 

"Good morning," chirped Harry as he entered. 

"Good morning, did you cook?" asked Louis without turning from the window. 

"How can you tell?" Louis turned and grinned at him, tapping the tip of his nose a few times. Harry laughed. "I did my best. I think I was supposed to put something in the pot before the eggs." 

It was Louis' turn to laugh. "How would I know?" He walked up to the table, his limp heavier without his cane, and pulled him closer by the hips to kiss him. "Is that my anniversary present, seeing you walk around with your bum nearly out?" he asked against Harry's lips, reaching around to pinch his bum playfully. 

Harry giggled and squealed at the pinch, batting Louis' hand away. "I even went outside!" 

"I hope no one saw you, otherwise I'll have to have them executed. Only I get to see you so undressed." 

Harry sat at the table as he laughed, before taking a sip of coffee. "Hm, that's a shame, I was thinking about commissioning portraits of me for your… _private_ viewing. Something like…" Harry pulled on the sleeve of his shirt to bare his shoulder and part of his chest, not missing the way Louis' eyes darted to his exposed nipple. 

"Oh, well… I suppose an artist could be allowed to see you, if… if it's for a good purpose." Louis sat down heavily, never tearing his eyes away from Harry. 

"I thought so," he replied, smiling and winking at Louis. "So let's hope I don't kill us with this omelette." 

Leaving the shirt off his shoulder, enjoying the way Louis' eyes kept travelling back to it as though beyond his control, Harry served them two portions and Louis picked up his plate to inspect it. 

"I thought omelettes were supposed to look like crepes. This is… chunks." 

"Hm, well, I had to stir it so it didn't burn." 

Louis took a bite and scrunched up his face as he chewed. "This isn't… half bad," he finally said, swallowing and washing it down with a sip of coffee. "Did you use salt?" 

"No. Why would I use salt? It's not meat." Harry rolled his eyes, confused by Louis' question. 

Louis opened his mouth as though he was about to say something, but he shook his head and took another bite instead. "Try it, you'll see. It's edible." 

Harry tried the omelette and was pleasantly surprised when the taste did not repulse him. It was not good, far from it, but as eggs went, they tasted like, well, eggs. 

"Thank you for the breakfast, _Schatz_ ," said Louis once he had eaten every last bite on his plate. 

"Thank you for the pavilion," replied Harry with emphasis. "It's like… you know what I'm about to say, aren't you?" 

"If you're about to say that it's like Marie-Antoinette's little farm, then yes, I know what you're about to say." Louis winked as Harry laughed, caught. "I know my little prince." 

Harry reached across the table and took Louis' hand. "And now, do you know what I'm about to say?" 

Louis smiled. "That you love me?" 

"That I love you, yes." 

"I love you, too." 

"I know. I know my little king." Harry smirked. "Very little king." 

Huffing, Louis rolled his eyes. "Your portrait five years ago did not mention that you would keep growing like a weed years into our marriage, otherwise I'd have picked someone else." 

"Now, I know you're lying because you told me a _thousand_ times that you fell in love with my _beautiful_ green eyes and no one else existed for you after that." 

"I stand by my words." 

"I'm glad you chose me. I never knew it was possible to be this happy." 

"Me neither." 

They stayed like this for a while and later, they would go for a walk around the park before crawling in bed for a well-needed nap, and the day would unfold like so many others had before and so many other would after, and Harry would never quite realise it, but he was finally living in the happily ever after of his daydreams. 

**Author's Note:**

> 1King  [ return to text ]  
> 2Moron  [ return to text ]  
> 3Gentry, lower nobility  [ return to text ]  
> 4My lord  [ return to text ]  
> 5Welcome, my darling betrothed [ return to text ]  
> 6Darling [ return to text ]  
> 7Your Majesty [ return to text ]  
> 8Treasure [ return to text ]  
> 9Husband [ return to text ]  
> 10His Highness [ return to text ]  
> 11My swan prince [ return to text ]  
> 12His Highness the Prince Consort Harry von Wittelsbach [ return to text ]  
> 13My love [ return to text ]  
> 14The original is called Amalienburg. I took some creative liberties with the name to fit this story. [ return to text ]
> 
> -
> 
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!


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